


to collide in aurum

by suheafoams



Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends With Benefits, Happy Ending, Jock Straps, M/M, Mirror Sex, Mutual Pining, One Night Stands, Semi-Public Sex, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:28:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 52,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29529201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suheafoams/pseuds/suheafoams
Summary: “I’m just reminding you we’re not complete strangers,” Geonhak says. He’s hooked his index finger around Seoho’s pinky in Seoho’s momentary distraction, and his eyebrows are raised, all hopeful like that will coax Seoho into agreeing to something troublesome. “It doesn’t have to be complicated, right? You don’t have anything to lose.”“My time,” Seoho points out.“Time spent having fun isn’t really a loss,” Geonhak counters. “Don’t you think?”(Geonhak is insatiable for anything and everything Seoho will give him, and underneath the weight of such gentle, earnest warmth, Seoho keeps forgetting why that’s so dangerous.)
Relationships: Kim Geonhak | Leedo/Lee Seoho, Lee Seoho & Yeo Hwanwoong
Comments: 62
Kudos: 143





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: brief, non-graphic references to past reckless behavior (car racing, smoking, etc.) and even briefer mentions of car accidents and hospitalization/physical therapy 
> 
> this was a project i'd lost hope on ever finishing  
> it was a miracle that i found the strength to return to it at all, and then it accidentally doubled in length. dahlia-cat-bot has a lot to say when it comes to these two men, after all. i've been hesitant to post long fics for more than one reason but i'll consider this a token of me feeling better this year 
> 
> alternative summary: puppy geonhak worms his way into biker boy seoho's heart for 52k words 
> 
> please consider leaving comments as u read and after if you find this story enjoyable!

✧

Everything feels grimy when Seoho quietly slips out of an unfamiliar bed and pulls on his black, ripped jeans, snapping threads by negligence and not so much haste in the process before he finally manages to shove his right foot out the correct hole at the bottom of his pant leg. They’re getting old anyways, faded in multiple spots from how many times they’ve been through the wash and dryer, so Seoho’s going to have to pick up a new pair as soon as he gets enough free time to drop by the mall. 

His shirt, embarrassingly enough, has been tossed so far across the room that Seoho lets out a chuckle as he walks over to pick it up from off of the floor. 

_Great way to start off the semester, idiot,_ he thinks to himself. 

Underneath his feet, the charcoal colored planks are cool, and they feel as expensive as everything else in this apartment. Now that he thinks about it, there’d been a number of security measures and staff located in various parts of the building between the underground parking lot and the top floor, but he’d been too preoccupied by other things to pay any real attention. 

Even so, it’s a different sort of expensive than what he’s used to, more understated, but he supposes it’s unrealistic to expect all rich boys to come in the same shade of _gaudy._ For what it’s worth, the view from this high up is nice, and Seoho almost feels wistful stepping away from the window that nearly makes up two entire walls even though he knows he should be heading home soon. 

Once his shirt’s on, Seoho smooths out the wrinkles in the material so that the caramel and ivory colored squares hang a little straighter, and he’s reminded that his left ear is sore because he’d briefly snagged it while pulling the collar of his shirt over his head, piercings having gotten more irritated than usual from him sleeping carelessly on his side instead of on his back. 

He’s in the middle of trying to remember whether he has enough aftercare spray to avoid buying a new can when a husky voice breaks the silence of the too-large room to address him. 

“Not much of a charmer once the sun comes up, are you?” 

Seoho runs a hand through his hair, fingertips coming away tacky with remnants of styling product before he pastes on a smile that he knows doesn’t quite reach his eyes and turns around. 

At some point in between Seoho getting up and getting dressed, Geonhak has woken up, and is now sitting with the blankets pooled around his bare waist, having propped himself up by a hand. He’s pretty, even prettier with stripes of sunlight molding around the planes of his toned shoulders and arms, with those soft brown eyes and small, full lips and sharp cheekbones. Seoho had known Geonhak was a looker in the dark, had approached him and latched on once he’d heard Geonhak’s velvety voice, once he’d felt the weight of Geonhak’s hands on him, but he wasn’t expecting _this._

Geonhak would make someone a gorgeous boyfriend, Seoho has to admit, but it’s not going to be him. 

Seoho licks at his lips absentmindedly. He doesn’t know how long Geonhak has been watching him. “Did you want me to be?” 

“You were last night, although I guess you had a reason for it,” Geonhak says. He smiles, but it seems painful, and there’s just enough insecurity displayed in the soft pull of his mouth that Seoho has to look away. Even if Seoho considers himself someone with little empathy, an emotion like that doesn’t belong on Geonhak’s face, at least not openly where Seoho can see it. “What if my answer is _yes_?” 

Seoho doesn’t think about how Geonhak had asked, last night, if Seoho was okay with being kissed when he’d noticed that Seoho accepted everything else readily and only stumbled when Geonhak pressed their mouths together, sucking at Seoho’s bottom lip in the hopes that Seoho would open up for him. How Geonhak had hummed thoughtfully every time Seoho let out a particularly loud whine, like he was trying to discern a pattern of behavior for future reference, or how Geonhak had gently put Seoho’s glasses away on the dresser and pushed Seoho’s bangs back as they were both nearly falling asleep, murmuring something in Seoho’s ear that fell between _goodnight_ and _let’s stay like this for a while—_

“...Geonhak,” Seoho says, and he hates the way Geonhak’s face lights up at the sound of his name coming out of Seoho’s mouth. It makes it that much more impossible to refuse him, that much harder to draw an ingrained boundary. “I’m glad that you had a good time last night, but whatever you’re looking for, you won’t find it in—” 

“I like the way you took care of me,” Geonhak says, genuinely, and Seoho’s mouth goes dry. “You’re sweet, and a little mean, but I want to spend more time with you, however much you’re willing to give.”

Seoho stares at him for a long moment, before smirking to disguise the horrible, unexpected warmth bubbling in his chest. “Was I that good?”

“Yeah,” Geonhak says without faltering. Despite the bravado, he looks down, and the tips of his ears are slightly pink. “I could be good for you, too, if you let me.”

Seoho is caught off guard by that confidence, boyish and eager and reckless, yet not at all arrogant or demanding. He’s seen bits and pieces of it already, in how Geonhak had leveled his best puppy eyes at Seoho when Seoho was wiping himself down and asked if Seoho was satisfied. In how he’d rearranged Seoho like a ragdoll for better access, then stared at Seoho through his eyelashes while sucking Seoho off, unsure of himself but determined nonetheless as he clutched at Seoho’s thighs to stop Seoho from shaking so much. 

Recalling that image makes the pit of Seoho’s stomach burn, and he quickly dismisses the memory, along with whatever inklings of interest are making him reconsider going straight home. Attachment is silly to build up in the mind when there’s no justification for it in reality. That’s a lesson he learned the hard way. 

“I don’t need anyone to be good for me more than once,” Seoho says. “I’m not short on playmates, and with that face, you aren’t either.”

“Was it bad?” Geonhak asks, and Seoho blinks at him, confused. 

“What?”

“The sex,” Geonhak says. He looks at Seoho expectantly, and if it were anyone else, Seoho would jump at the opportunity to knock an ego down a notch.

But Geonhak is scratching at the side of his neck, slightly tucking his limbs in towards himself like that of someone who has spent more years shy and insecure than _not,_ and Seoho’s initial urge to say something cutting turns into an instant desire to reassure. “No,” Seoho says quickly. “It was...good. You were good. I’m just not—”

“So let me be even better,” Geonhak says. “I’ll make it worthwhile for you.” 

This is...this is new territory, wanting to give in, and Seoho frowns. “Not sure you want that,” he says. “I bite, if you’re not careful.” 

“I don’t mind, obviously,” Geonhak replies. Compared to his speaking voice, his laugh is lighter in tone. Cloud-like, as if the individual notes are tufts of cotton candy being pulled apart. “You should know that after last night.” 

“I don’t have to know anything about you,” Seoho says, and he immediately realizes his delivery isn’t sharp enough to hurt, because Geonhak simply tilts his head and waits for Seoho to continue. There’s no flinch, no grimace, and Seoho can feel himself slipping up underneath Geonhak’s calm, patient scrutiny. “We barely know each other. You don’t...” 

“You like teasing people,” Geonhak says, carefully. “You’re smart, but a little dense. You don’t like being touched, although you’re gentle when you touch others, and you flirt with your face more than your body.” 

Seoho can feel his cheeks heat up. “What—” 

“You used to be a dancer, and you have a tongue piercing,” Geonhak says. _Used to be_ catches Seoho off guard because he’s not sure whether he mentioned it last night or just that Geonhak pays attention to details other people generally dismiss. “You don’t like taking off your jewelry, so it gets tangled. You’re nervous with kisses, but fine with almost everything else.” He raises an eyebrow, then. “I also know what you sound like when you co—”

“That’s enough,” Seoho says, stepping across the floor to sit on the bed and put his hand over Geonhak’s mouth before Geonhak says anything worse. “Is it fun to speculate about people like this?” 

“I’m just reminding you we’re not complete strangers,” Geonhak says. He’s hooked his index finger around Seoho’s pinky in Seoho’s momentary distraction, and his eyebrows are raised, all hopeful like that will coax Seoho into agreeing to something troublesome. “It doesn’t have to be complicated, right? You don’t have anything to lose.” 

“My time,” Seoho points out. 

“Time spent having fun isn’t really a loss,” Geonhak counters. “Don’t you think?”

Seoho considers telling him that once upon a time, he thought the same. 

But loss blindsides you, in all sorts of ways, and soon you’re left reconsidering every moment you’ve let your heart go quiet and aimless for too long, guilt heavy in the fraction of a lifetime you’ve spent playing with no end goal in mind. 

“I think you’re too optimistic,” is what Seoho settles on, and Geonhak scrunches his nose at the sharp, insulting curl of Seoho’s tone. “Is that what you tell yourself when you’re putting off work?” 

“I put off work in healthy, incrementally manageable ways,” Geonhak says, refreshingly honest, and it makes Seoho laugh despite his initial determination to dislike this half stranger. “Where’s your phone?” 

“Why?” Seoho asks, raising an eyebrow. “Are you going to record a nice video message for me?” 

“If you want me to, I can,” Geonhak answers. “But you’d have to give me a good view first.” He has the audacity to intertwine more of their fingers together as he says it, and Seoho feels his whole body flush with a combination of embarrassment and anticipation. 

“Ugh.” Seoho slips his hand out of Geonhak’s, ignoring Geonhak’s amused _why, why, what’s wrong_ in favor of retrieving his phone from where he’d left it on Geonhak’s dresser. His rings are there too, three circles of silver placed in a straight line by Geonhak yesterday, but he doesn’t put them on just yet, first settles at the edge of Geonhak’s bed again to exchange contact information. 

_This is a bad idea_ , Seoho thinks to himself as he waits for his incoming call to show up on Geonhak’s phone screen, watches Geonhak save him as a new contact and punctuate “ _Seoho_ ” with a fox emoji. Is that how Geonhak sees him? “Save my number, too, Seoho.” 

“Oh yeah? And why would I do that?” Seoho narrows his eyes. He makes a new contact from the outgoing call regardless, saving Geonhak as _Blondie._

“So you’ll know which calls to pick up,” Geonhak says, and his knuckles brush lightly against Seoho’s earrings as he picks a piece of lint out of Seoho’s hair. His touch is feather light, like he’s ready for Seoho to bolt at any moment, and it makes Seoho wonder which part of him gives away his skittish tendencies. “You can be the one to call me, too.” 

“Right,” Seoho says. “Look forward to that.” 

“I will.” Geonhak’s eyes pull into crescents that border on endearing as he grins widely at Seoho, hesitant but pleased, and Seoho is about to tell him not to get his hopes up when Geonhak leans in close and asks, “Stay for breakfast?” 

He rests a hand on Seoho’s hip, rubbing circles into the black denim lightly as he lists what he has in the fridge and what cafes are around the block, and Seoho, against his better judgment, listens. 

He tells himself later, as Geonhak tries to pull him back into bed, that he’s only staying for the elevated view and the conveniently placed square of light from the window flooding both of them in golden morning warmth. 

✧

“You’re home awfully _early_ ,” Hwanwoong remarks dryly, when Seoho arrives back at their shared apartment and discreetly lets himself in around half past eleven. Hwanwoong has tied his bangs back so that he’s sporting an adorable mop of apple hair, his hip jutted out defiantly in a way that’s noticeable even through the giant striped sweater he’s wearing which belongs to Dongju. 

Seoho’s surprised. Hwanwoong usually sleeps in until noon or later, padding out in fuzzy slippers and joining Seoho in the kitchen to see what Seoho is making for lunch and picking at bits of it until Seoho is forced to make a portion for him too. “You’re awake?” 

“You didn’t reply to my text until this morning,” Hwanwoong says. “I was worried.” 

“Are you still worried?” Seoho drops his keys down on the table by their window AC, which doubles as a cheap entertaining space for guests and storage for their mail, but mostly the latter. “I replied, though.”

“I guess now I’m just curious,” Hwanwoong revises. “Who were you with?” 

“No one,” Seoho replies evenly, half hoping that Hwanwoong’s yawn means he’s too groggy to notice Seoho is wearing a beige sweater that doesn’t belong to him, hanging off his shoulders in a way that would better suit the build of someone slightly wider. 

“No one?” Hwanwoong echoes. Pokes at Seoho’s chest almost accusingly, but it does no damage because he leans into Seoho right after. “You never stay over at anyone’s place this late. Plus you showered and you don’t have makeup on anymore, _and_ that’s not your sweater.” 

“I was offered free breakfast,” Seoho says, lightly. He sees how it is. Hwanwoong doesn’t wake up for morning practice no matter how hard Seoho shakes him but he’s wide awake when he wants to dig up information Seoho doesn’t want to hand over. “How could I turn that down?” 

“You never care about mooching off of people, and that doesn’t answer my question,” Hwanwoong says. “Is he cute?” A pause. “Is it Juyeon? I liked him.” 

“Go back to bed,” Seoho says, which earns him a displeased growl from Hwanwoong. “Do you want cheese on your ramen for lunch?” 

“Don’t distract me with food just because you want me to stop being nosy,” Hwanwoong says, before he sighs. “I guess I shouldn’t expect a concrete answer from you when it comes to stuff like this, huh?” 

“With a best friend and housemate as high maintenance as you, how could I ever find the time to do things I have to keep secret from you?” Seoho asks. 

“You keep plenty of things secret from me,” Hwanwoong says. “I may have a one track mind, but I’m not completely oblivious to how you work as a person.” 

“Then you’ll know what I don’t tell you usually doesn’t matter,” Seoho says. 

Both of them know that’s not completely true, and Hwanwoong looks ready to launch into an argument about all of the holes in that claim, although that stubbornness seems to have dwindled down by the time he follows Seoho into the kitchen. “I do want cheese,” Hwanwoong says eventually, as Seoho checks to see whether their ramen pot is clean, and Seoho laughs. “But cool it with the spice, will you? It feels like you’re trying to kill me whenever I eat ramen with the soup base you make.” 

“How’d you know?” Seoho deadpans, as Hwanwoong rips through a packet of instant ramen particularly viciously, and he ducks out of the way when he senses Hwanwoong lifting his foot to kick Seoho in the butt. “Attempted murder is the highest form of flattery, you realize?” 

“That’s something Dongju would say,” Hwanwoong says. “I get enough of that energy in my life, thank you very much.” 

“What’s a little more!” Seoho replies, unrepentant, and Hwanwoong’s exasperated whine has him giggling hard enough that he temporarily forgets the discomfort of his own, unusual feelings along with the uncertainty of strings that haven’t been cut as cleanly as he would have liked. 

_This doesn’t have to mean anything,_ Seoho thinks to himself as he stares down at his sleeves, material unfamiliar and inexplicably comforting all the same. He doesn’t recall the way Geonhak had reluctantly taken his hand off of Seoho’s thigh when Seoho was getting out of Geonhak’s fancy, tiny silver sports car, or the way Geonhak had reminded him to have a good rest of his weekend with the sort of smile that made Seoho, uncharacteristically, want to crawl back onto his lap and never leave.

 _This doesn’t have to mean anything at all,_ Seoho thinks to himself again later, when Hwanwoong is busy chattering away about the essay he doesn’t want to write, swirling his chopsticks around in the ramen to get all the cheese because he knows Seoho doesn’t want any, and Seoho wonders if it’s silly to hope he wakes up tomorrow with no memory of Geonhak imprinted in his mind or on his skin. 

✧

On a chilly, windy Tuesday afternoon, business is slow at Cider Moon, the frozen yogurt shop Seoho’s been working at ever since he moved here for college. Personally, Seoho doesn’t think sugar cravings should be affected by environmental conditions, but Hwanwoong says Seoho’s brain is lawless land and that it makes sense for most people to seek out destinations with warmer sweets instead of frozen yogurt on days like these. 

They get by, even so. Their boss, Yonghoon, is well off with a nice face and an even nicer heart, and opening this shop had started off as a hobby for him before it quickly transformed into a long term investment. Seoho hadn’t planned on sticking around for this long, honestly, when the shop is obnoxiously bright in its interior design along with the workers’ polo shirt uniforms, but the pay is decent and it’s troublesome to quit, knowing that Yonghoon would paw at Seoho with his too-long limbs and beg Seoho not to go because he likes having him around. 

Harin would say _it’s not like you have anything better to do anyways,_ and Youngjo would stare at Seoho with those droopy, perpetually hopeful eyes that convey more emotion than Seoho has willingly communicated in his whole life and ask who he’s supposed to decorate the blackboard menu with if Seoho isn’t here anymore. Youngjo is the better artist, but he’s also sentimental and clings to friendship traditions like they keep him afloat.

Eyes flickering back to said menu hanging behind where he’s sitting, Seoho notes that their handwritten flavor of the week (~ _Honey Lavender~_ ) has been worn down at the edges, yellow chalk smudged enough to lose its vivid edge but not enough to need fixing. 

But Seoho kind of needs a distraction from his own thoughts, and he’s certainly not getting it from the two girls quietly chatting by the window front of the shop. They’re almost done with their frozen yogurt, anyways, and getting ready to leave, judging by the way the one with longer hair is tapping the heels of her sneakers on the floor while her friend scrapes at what sounds more like paper cup than actual frozen yogurt. Youngjo is in the back, sorting inventory and orders with Yonghoon because he’s the designated helpful one and Seoho is the designated _nuisance_ by personal choice _,_ so there’s nothing to do, really, unless new visitors come in. 

Geonhak has texted Seoho here and there the past two weeks. He seems to wake early, earlier than Seoho, whose eyes sting with fatigue and annoyance as he focuses on the much too bright screen of his phone and wonders why Geonhak bothers to send things like _good morning_ or _did you sleep well? :-)_ when they’re not anything or anyone to each other. 

Seoho has done his best to reply sparingly. He doesn’t enjoy feeling curious when it never serves him well, and Geonhak hasn’t directly asked to see him again, either. 

“You seem kind of restless,” Youngjo says. Seoho has no idea when Youngjo snuck up behind him without Seoho noticing, but it makes Seoho’s hand fly up to his chest in mild alarm. “Sorry. You usually don’t get scared.” 

“You mean I don’t scream at the top of my lungs like Harin and smack you hard enough to send you flying into outer space,” Seoho says. He’s not that shaken up, though, and he fends off Youngjo’s attempts to pat soothingly where he thinks Seoho’s heart is. Youngjo has good intentions, but he’s also handsy, and he likes patting at Seoho’s thighs and chest anytime he gets the opportunity. “What do you mean restless?” 

“You’re grumpy.” Youngjo rests his chin in the palm of his hand, peering attentively at Seoho through his long, thick lashes. “Something’s on your mind.” 

“Aren’t I always grumpy with you around?” Seoho asks, and Youngjo pouts at him.

“It’s a different sort of grumpy today,” Youngjo says. “Your default is…” he licks his bottom lip, like he’s deliberating on whether it’s okay for him to be so direct, “ _sad,_ with a sprinkle of grumpy. Right now, it’s more that you’re annoyed you haven’t figured something out.” He pauses, and the silence stretches so long that Seoho is almost tempted to advise Youngjo not to break his brain articulating ideas too complicated for it. “You don’t usually have trouble with your classes, so is it an argument? Or someone upset you?” 

For someone who spends so much time admiring himself _,_ Youngjo is exceptionally perceptive towards other people. It might be that he’s secure enough to never seek out the spotlight, preferring to let others fill the atmosphere and conversation while he settles into the background and just observes. Seoho is similar in the sense that he doesn’t usually _try_ to be the center of attention, but his motivations for observation are a lot less well intentioned than Youngjo’s, because he collects his tidbits of information to strike a blow when the moment is right. 

Youngjo, on the other hand, could distinguish everyone’s weaknesses in perfect clarity and would still never use it against them, and that’s what makes it so difficult for Seoho to get around his soft, well-meaning inquiries. Youngjo would probably see it as a personal failure on himself as a friend if Seoho remains intent on clamming up. 

“I think someone’s trying to…” Seoho watches alarm flash across Youngjo’s face before he revises it, starting again after a quiet inhale. “I’ve been texting someone.” 

Youngjo’s eyes widen enough that they’re no longer half lidded, a rare display of surprise, and Seoho laughs as soon as he realizes his second attempt at explaining without revealing too much has gone astray again. Youngjo leans forward, words tumbling out of him before he can contain himself. “Like you’re dat—”

“No, no,” Seoho says, and Youngjo makes a dismayed noise like he should have known better than to get excited. “I think they’re interested in getting to know me...better?” 

Youngjo’s expression doesn’t change much, though it’s obvious he’s puzzled. “What’s wrong with that?” 

“I don’t know _why_ they’re interested,” Seoho says. He doesn’t know what to make of Geonhak, who had told Seoho that this _thing_ between them didn’t have to be complicated, but since then has sent nothing even remotely suggestive. Silence wouldn’t make much sense considering Geonhak had gone to the trouble of obtaining Seoho’s phone number, but the ambiguous, genial wake up texts make even _less_ sense. “Usually I can tell, you know. Because they think I’m funny, or mysterious, or—” 

“There doesn’t have to be a definitive reason, right?” Youngjo offers a smile. “When I first got to know you, I just thought you were interesting and wanted to be around you. Does it matter why, in the long run?” 

Well, knowing _why_ probably matters more if you’re trying to figure out whether the guy you fucked likes to entertain twisted curiosity or sheer boredom. Seoho allows himself to be reckless, sure, but it doesn’t mean he’s any less skeptical towards people’s intentions in the aftermath. 

“I don’t want to waste my time,” Seoho says. “Maybe they’ll lose interest.” He means for it to come out nonchalant, or at least cynical, but he regrets it as soon as the words leave his mouth because they sound nowhere nearly as unaffected as he would have hoped. 

“If you put your heart into it,” Youngjo replies, “nothing’s a waste of time. No matter how it turns out in the end. You know that, right?” 

_No matter how it turns out in the end,_ Seoho thinks, sounds a lot like Youngjo trying to make a delicate reference to more than one situation. “You sound like the first page of a poorly written self help book,” he tells Youngjo. 

Youngjo laughs, soft and dulcet, taking no offense. He rarely ever does. “I thought you hated self help books.” 

“I do,” Seoho says. “It’s because Keonhee has switched to sending me direct quotes from his evening page-flipping instead of book recommendations since he knows I won’t read them. I’m a walking positivity bot now thanks to him.”

It’s near the end of their shift, later, that Youngjo hovers near Seoho again. This time Seoho is prepared, and also moving around enough that he can see Youngjo slowly make his way closer and closer until their shoulders are close enough to bump into each other. 

“What’s up?” 

“If you’re acting like that,” Youngjo says, picking up where they left off in the conversation like there wasn’t a gap in between, “doesn’t it mean you care enough already? It means you don’t want them to lose interest in you.” 

“That’s…” Seoho frowns. He wants to deflect, but Youngjo is not Hwanwoong. He won’t pressure Seoho to _act_ on anything he doesn’t want to do and he won’t make a big deal out of Seoho being honest every once in a while. “I don’t like being someone’s shiny new toy. The shine dulls eventually, and then I get tossed to the back of the toy box—” 

“Your shine has never dulled for me, Seoho,” Youngjo interrupts, patting at Seoho’s hand. His palms are softer, smoother compared to Seoho’s calloused hands, which are rough from all the sports he played in high school, and maybe rough from years of chasing people and even more so dreams he’s long let go. “The more time I spend with you, the more gratitude I feel that we got to meet and become friends.” 

Seoho’s voice comes out a little clogged when he finally croaks, “Who said we were ever friends, idiot?” 

“Hehe.” Letting go of Seoho’s hand, Youngjo tucks his arms close to his body and crosses them over his chest. “You’re a good judge of character no matter how much you think you can’t trust anyone.” With a pointed pause, he offers Seoho a smile that’s a bit more playful than his usual ones. “And besides, someone who wants to get close to the version of you that exists _now_ would be genuinely into you, considering you’re not all that nice anyways.” 

He delivers the remark so sweetly that Seoho doesn’t register the implication until a few seconds later, which is when he gapes at Youngjo. “Hey.” 

“Love you,” Youngjo says, giggling, and he makes a little twirl to duck away from Seoho grabbing at his shirt. 

The unrest has mostly settled into a barely there simmer of something uncomfortable by the time Seoho gets home. 

At least, that’s what Seoho keeps telling himself, even as Youngjo’s words keep looping in his head the same way old remixes and arrangements used to chase Seoho from his consciousness to even the deepest parts of his sleep. 

_You don’t want them to lose interest in you,_ Youngjo had said, and Seoho is more annoyed at himself for letting those words be true than he is annoyed at Youngjo for verbalizing it. Seoho is smart and rational and more than anything, all too experienced with giving away too much of himself to other people. That’s why he’s made an art out of recognizing mistakes before he repeats them, and yet he realizes the limitations of that logic when it comes to how he feels about a person rather than a thing or an isolated idea. 

Hwanwoong isn’t around to be a distraction, unfortunately. He’s gone to school to practice choreography and maybe get some studying in for his electives. Seoho _knows_ him, though, and he’s pretty sure Hwanwoong’s only going to leave the practice room and crack open a textbook once someone meddles enough to physically drag him out. 

That someone used to be Seoho, but these days Hwanwoong’s other classmates (Seoho’s ex-classmates) do their best to manage Hwanwoong so that Seoho doesn’t have to be troubled to do it himself. They’re careful, cautious around him, and if Seoho cared as much as he used to about brightening the atmosphere, he would tell them to relax. Or he’d paste a cheerful smile on, forcing it to reach his eyes just enough to be convincing, while joking that one aspiration getting crossed out simply meant he had the free time to pursue all of the other things he was _so_ good at. 

Realistically, it’s just easier to avoid that part of campus. It saves Seoho the trouble of being inflicted with concern that traps him more than it frees him. 

Curiosity, in Seoho’s mind, is better reserved for everything except people. He knows this, and yet he still spends the majority of dinner swiping through his unread messages, lingering a beat longer than he should on his ongoing text conversation with Geonhak. 

Texts from Geonhak are sporadic, and his last message a few hours ago is just a picture of a stray cat curled up on the bench of a park Seoho vaguely recognizes. Geonhak doesn’t seem to care about maintaining a constant exchange, double messaging whenever he thinks of another thing he wants to say rather than checking whether Seoho is leaving him on read. There’s not much pressure in that sense, at least, and he somehow hasn’t gotten fed up with Seoho’s lukewarm responses yet. 

Seoho considers the way Geonhak’s laugh goes high pitched without losing its thickness, soft and delighted and unexpectedly light compared to his speaking voice. There doesn’t have to be meaning attached to liking the sound of someone’s laugh, but Seoho had been surprised by Geonhak in plenty of other ways. 

How Geonhak made sure to soften his edges, when they’d gone out for breakfast. He was aware of his size and what it could convey even if he was just standing there, although it seemed he wasn’t as aware of the soothing effect he had on strangers, whether it was the tired waitress whose mood seemed to lift upon seeing his polite smile and polished manners, or the little boy in line who stopped hiding behind his mother’s legs to shyly smile back up at Geonhak. 

A nice boy like that shouldn’t be getting close to someone like Seoho, who always extends his claws first to make sure he’s seen as _dangerous_ and not at all inviting. Not capable of caring for anyone other than himself, although Seoho thinks it’s only because he’s practiced being heartless for so long that he doesn’t remember how to be anything else. 

Seoho washes the dishes after he’s done eating and watches the hot soapy water rinse away the grease easily, hoping intent is all he needs to get Geonhak out of his system. 

✧

This part of campus is always busy. 

Good food is hard to come by, though, and good food priced comfortably for student wallets is even more of a rarity, so Seoho is unsurprised to see a long line for the shop Keonhee had wanted to meet up at for lunch. 

Seoho frowns when someone bumps into him, clearly not looking where they’re going considering he’s been standing still this whole time. Most people are smart enough to avoid colliding with him, so the almost purposeful contact between his shoulder and a hard chest has Seoho looking up from his phone to narrow his eyes at whoever thought it was a good idea to cross him in more ways than one. 

Seoho’s glare, however, widens into something less sharp, less angry the moment he’s met with a pair of soft, familiar brown eyes accompanied by a mouth that’s pulled into part smile and larger part smirk. It winds him up as much as it makes the tension in his shoulders unfurl, melting down into something not quite relaxed but definitely lighter than before. 

Geonhak does this little blink, absentminded twitch of his nose when he’s thinking. It’s endearing, though Seoho catches the thought before it can grow into something bigger, something harder to dismiss, and he takes in the stretch of Geonhak’s sky blue sweater across his shoulders and crossed arms before looking back up at Geonhak’s face. 

“Did you come to visit me?” Geonhak asks. 

Seoho laughs, recognizing that eager, puppy-like confidence. He had thought Geonhak’s attitude towards him would change when there were people around, but he doesn’t know how he feels that Geonhak continues to toe the line between wanting to please Seoho and tease him at the same time even with an unsuspecting audience. “Is it heavy to hold up that big head on your shoulders?” 

“Hey.” Geonhak nudges him. “Be nice.” 

“I’m never nice,” Seoho says, and then his attention is diverted to the two other students with Geonhak who are both watching him curiously. 

“Who’s the cutie?” The guy wearing a tie dye bucket hat and a shirt long enough to reach the knees of his cargo pants speaks first, and his question is followed immediately by one from Geonhak’s other friend, a girl with blue, layered hair that frames her face and a seemingly lazy gaze that resembles Youngjo’s in both appearance and mildness. “A friend of yours?” 

“You could say that,” Geonhak says, before he looks to Seoho for some sort of confirmation, and he beams when Seoho nods. “This is Seoho.” Geonhak gestures to his friends, then. “This is Giwook, and this is Yubin.” 

“Nice to meet you,” Seoho says, nodding once to both of them, and they seem surprised by the politeness, but Seoho is consistently well behaved around strangers despite the way he looks and dresses. “What are you doing here?” 

“This is where we get lunch a lot!” Giwook explains. “It’s tasty, and close to the business department, so…” 

“Ah,” Seoho says. “Business majors?” 

“Mhm.” Geonhak tilts his head, like he’s waiting for Seoho to ask him something, and he ends up chewing on his bottom lip when he realizes Seoho has nothing further to say. “Would you want to join us?” 

“I have plans,” Seoho says. “With my friend. I’m picking up lunch for both of us and then meeting him after because he’s running late.” Loud Keonhee, who’s just as noisy and wholehearted over text as he is in person, and had ended his explanation with _SOS_ and a bunch of flower emojis mixed in with skull ones. 

“That’s too bad,” Yubin says, looking between him and Geonhak. She’s pretty, all long lines and elegant posture, and calm, too, but Seoho doesn’t let his attention linger. 

“Do you have time today?” Geonhak asks, when Yubin and Giwook become preoccupied with discussing an assignment from the class they just got out of. “Later?” 

“Why?” Seoho asks. He has a shift at the yogurt shop, as well as homework. Geonhak is staring at him with an almost indecipherable expression, and Seoho wonders briefly if this is how prey-type animals feel when they can sense a predator nearby but can’t exactly pinpoint what said predator’s next step is. 

It’s not the first time Seoho has been interested in someone, but it _is_ the first time in a long while that Seoho lacks enough regard for the consequences of acting out on that desire. Typically it’s no effort to organize and rationalize his appreciation for the way someone looks or moves because their personality usually doesn’t match up, but Seoho can’t stop thinking about how easily Geonhak melts under him, how bright Geonhak’s eyes get even if Seoho’s mouth is mean because he knows something much nicer is waiting for him when Seoho’s fingers curl over the waistband of his jeans and press into his skin. 

Seoho is cruel with everything he does except for the way he touches, and he doesn’t know how to feel about Geonhak already having noticed that about him. 

_Time spent having fun isn’t really a loss, right?_ Geonhak had said. He’s not wrong, but Seoho letting his guard down means he’s much more likely to make decisions that become mistakes later, and there’s already so much he should be wary of when it comes to someone like Geonhak. 

“You can text me,” Seoho finally says, not looking at Geonhak. “I have work, so…” 

“I can wait,” Geonhak says. Seoho glances up at him, taking in Geonhak’s patient expression and eventually concluding Geonhak means it. “Do you want to eat together?” 

“Evening shift,” Seoho says. He laughs when he sees the way Geonhak deflates, as subtle as it is. “You want to take me out for dinner that badly, rich boy with a business major and probably three minors?” 

“I knew you had something against business majors,” Geonhak says. 

“They’re not so bad,” Seoho says. He laughs into the back of his hand as he thinks of Keonhee, who simultaneously hates everyone in his major and gets offended every time anyone has anything less than stellar to say about his classmates, but he realizes Geonhak is staring at him when he glances back up, and that’s... “You, on the other hand…” 

“Don’t be _mean_.” Geonhak shoves Seoho in the shoulder, without putting much strength into it. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Seoho says, and he has to hold back a chuckle so that he doesn’t get shoved a second time. 

“Eating alone isn’t as fun,” Geonhak says with a small pout, and Seoho raises his eyebrows at the casual admission. He doesn’t like eating by himself either, to be honest, but he’s forgotten what it’s like with how insistent Hwanwoong is about spending dinner together. “But it’s fine. You’ll make it up to me, right?” 

His gaze drops, momentarily, before it’s flickering back up to rest on Seoho’s face with an intensity that takes Seoho by surprise, makes fire crawl up the line of his spine and settle with reluctance at the tips of his ears. 

“Don’t get your hopes up, puppy,” Seoho reminds Geonhak, and maybe himself, too, but he doesn’t have to look at Geonhak’s expression to know it’s an order given in vain. 

✧

Near the end of Seoho’s shift, a text comes in. He can’t tell whether he’s more surprised by the enthusiasm or the fact that Geonhak actually followed through. 

**blondie:** _Do you remember where my apartment is or should I come pick you up?_

 **seoho** 🦊: _Give me your address again._

One more time, Seoho thinks, wouldn’t hurt. He ignores the way his heart seems to skip a beat, attributes it to restlessness and not any sort of anticipation for getting Geonhak underneath him again. 

They’ve just caught each other at a good time. Sliding his phone in his back pocket, Seoho shoves away inklings of unacceptable, more ridiculous thoughts that suggest otherwise as he resumes closing up shop. 

✧

Geonhak’s hands are on him as soon as Seoho steps through Geonhak’s front door. 

“I didn’t think you would actually come over,” is the first thing that comes out of his mouth, and Seoho blinks at him. It’s funny, that they’re surprised at each other for the same reason when Seoho is so used to people not keeping their word and tolerates empty promises knowing they’ll never be fulfilled. 

“I told you to give me your address,” he replies. “Did you think I was going to use it to order Girl Scout cookies?” 

Geonhak drops his head as he laughs into Seoho’s neck, soft and amused. His hands are resting on Seoho’s hips, and Seoho’s ears burn. “I don’t really eat sweet things but I would have appreciated the gesture.” 

“You don’t like sweet things?” 

“I don’t seek them out,” Geonhak says. “But I don’t mind them.” 

“Protein powder, then, would be a better surprise order at your doorstep,” Seoho says, recalling the weight equipment strewn throughout almost every room in the apartment, and the slight disdain in his voice must not be that offensive because it just has Geonhak laughing again. 

“Did you shower?” Geonhak asks, nuzzling at Seoho’s jaw, palms sliding up Seoho’s sides underneath his shirt, and Seoho barely has any time to react or even try answering the question before Geonhak is kissing, licking, biting at his lips. Tilting his head so that their mouths can slot together better, hot and slick as he slides his tongue over the cold metal running through Seoho’s own. Hand bumping into the ear of Seoho’s glasses, into the chains from Seoho’s ear jewelry when he lets his fingers wander from inside of Seoho’s shirt to Seoho’s hair and pulls gently at whatever golden orange strands are caught in between his knuckles. 

“Yeah,” Seoho says a little breathlessly, after Geonhak’s gotten his fill of kissing Seoho and released him from where he’s pressed Seoho against the door. “Why?” 

“You smell nice,” Geonhak says. “You didn’t have to, though. Could have come straight here instead of making me wait.” 

“You’re so eager,” Seoho says. _Isn’t that scary to admit?_ he wants to ask, but Geonhak probably isn’t scared of anything the way Seoho is, with the way he pursues what he wants without first worrying about all the ways he could get hurt. Maybe he’s never _been_ hurt before, not enough to scar, and if that’s the case then Seoho is kind of envious. 

“Are you not?” Geonhak asks, breath hot against Seoho’s neck. “Was coming here a chore for you?” and Seoho considers the question for a moment. 

With anyone else, the answer would have been _yes_. It all ends the same, anyways. They get bored, and Seoho learns to feel even less until his insides are rolling waves on a black, endless ocean washing up on gray shores. He should have mastered feeling _nothing_ and wanting _nothing_ by now, and yet, he’s thinking about all of the things he wants to do to Geonhak and all of the things he’s considering _letting_ Geonhak do to him, with him. 

Geonhak is watching Seoho carefully, like he’ll pick up on what Seoho is thinking if he keeps his eyes open long enough, with the same sort of concentration in his eyes as that first night he’d watched Seoho pull out of him, clutching patiently at the side of Seoho’s thigh as Seoho came all over Geonhak’s stomach and chest with quiet but high pitched gasps. 

“No.” Seoho licks his lip, and Geonhak’s attention wavers briefly as he tracks the movement of Seoho’s tongue. “Definitely not a chore.” 

“I couldn’t stop thinking about your mouth,” Geonhak says, after he’s been laid down onto his own sheets and Seoho has settled in between his legs, having pushed Geonhak’s knees apart so there’s enough space for him to get comfortable. “And your hands.”

His pupils are blown out, eyebrows pinched upwards in the center unsurely while his swollen lips are parted in anticipation as Seoho slowly but surely bites a pink path up the soft, sensitive skin of Geonhak’s inner thigh. Seoho wasn’t sure at first, but now he’s pretty certain that Geonhak likes it when Seoho handles him a little rough, moves Geonhak around without being too polite about it, judging by the way he gets harder, without fail, every time Seoho lifts him like he only weighs a feather and drops Geonhak like a ragdoll. 

“Yeah?” Seoho digs his nails harder into Geonhak’s hips, and Geonhak makes a low whine. “What about them?” 

“How they feel on me,” Geonhak says. “Also, how much I wanted to kiss you again. Whenever you smile, it’s really prett—” he moans, cutting himself off when Seoho mouths at the underside of his cock, a brief flick of cold metal enough to make Geonhak’s thighs twitch. “Ah, Seoho, that’s…”

Seoho had expected Geonhak to give a vulgar answer, not one that leaned unreasonably sweet, and now he doesn’t really want to let Geonhak finish whatever useless thing he was going to say. 

“That sounds like a confession, Blondie,” Seoho says. The warmth in his chest is only lust, probably, and not fondness at the way his name tumbles out of Geonhak’s perfect mouth. “Careful. Monsters have the prettiest smiles.” 

Geonhak laughs. Shudders, when Seoho prevents him from fucking into Seoho’s mouth by trapping Geonhak’s hips underneath the weight of his palms. Each additional whine that comes out of Geonhak is louder than the previous one, irritation growing every time Seoho draws circles around Geonhak’s orgasm but never leads Geonhak directly to it, takes wet heat away from Geonhak the moment he most needs it. “Seoho, Seoho, _fuck—_ ” 

It’s exhilarating, how responsive Geonhak is. He bristles at Seoho’s teasing, calls him mean names to try and make Seoho stop, but it means he’s listening attentively enough to be able to humor Seoho’s antics. He’s the same sort of _explosive_ when it comes to Seoho’s touches, dissolving into a full body twitch with so much as a thumb thoughtfully skimming over his nipple or teeth scraping along the outer shell of his ear, and Seoho is more motivated to make a game out of it, see how far he can push Geonhak without ever giving him what he wants. 

“You look pretty tense,” Seoho remarks, as he curls his middle finger experimentally inside of Geonhak, his index and ring fingers playing their part in filling space but not so much when it comes to length. The arch of Geonhak’s back is so alluring, desperate and lean and yet resistant. If Seoho weren’t busy using his free hand to keep Geonhak’s thighs spread wide, he would run it down the center line in between Geonhak’s pecs and soft abs, cross the landmark of Geonhak’s sternum to his navel before looping back to fit his fingers in the indents of Geonhak’s rib cage. “Maybe you should try relaxing a little.” 

“Fuck you,” Geonhak says. There is no bite to his threats even when he’s not at the mercy of Seoho’s fingers inside of him, getting him off halfway but not fully, and there’s even _less_ edge to his words now because Seoho’s making sure that Geonhak can’t think about anything else except being stuffed full of Seoho any way he can get it. 

“If you’re in one piece after I’m done with you, we can do that,” Seoho says. He stills momentarily, bending down to drop a kiss on Geonhak’s chest. “I don’t mind.” 

“I’m going to be ninety and brittle by the time you’re done with me,” Geonhak complains, voice hoarse, but his eyes squeeze shut when Seoho replies by wiggling his fingers, demanding all of Geonhak’s attention once again. 

“You can last that long?” Seoho asks. “Could have fooled me. You look like you’re going to come any moment now.” 

“I _would_ , if you’d _let_ me,” Geonhak grinds out, and Seoho laughs, feeling only a little sorry because Geonhak looks close to tears. In Seoho’s humble opinion, nothing worthwhile comes without a bit of struggle, and that includes orgasms bestowed upon boys who talk big and yet come right apart underneath Seoho’s hands. 

“That’s pretty selfish of you,” Seoho says. “What if I wanted to come together with you? Like a group project, you feel?” 

“Remind me why I invited you over,” Geonhak says. His eyes roll back, probably in a mixture of annoyance and pleasure. “I’m having trouble remembering.” 

“You want me to go home?” Seoho asks. He crooks his fingers one last time before pulling them slowly out of Geonhak, who whines loudly at the withdrawal, muscles clenching around Seoho in subconscious protest. It’s such a nice view and nice _noise_ that Seoho bites his lip, half reconsidering how he wants to make Geonhak come as something hot and heavy burns at the pit of his stomach. “I can. I was just under the impression you wanted to get off at some point today.” 

“You weren’t this mean the first time,” Geonhak huffs out, barely catching his breath. “Fuck, I can’t…” 

“I think you like it when I’m mean,” Seoho says, and there’s more teasing than conviction in the statement because he knows he’s not that perceptive if he’s not actively trying, not purposely observing someone’s behavior to see where he’s allowed and not allowed to push them. 

“Yeah, right,” Geonhak says, voice thick with attitude. 

But then his jaw goes slack the moment Seoho scrapes thin nails along the sides of Geonhak’s thighs, hard enough to leave coral stripes behind on pale muscle, and that’s more than enough of an answer for Seoho. 

Seoho keeps his hands on Geonhak’s waist to use as leverage as he fucks into him, slow and patient, watches the way Geonhak claws at the sheets like he can’t decide whether he wants to escape Seoho or let Seoho invade him completely. Geonhak bites at his knuckles, his moans loud and drawn out every time his teeth unclench and he can’t gather the resolve to muffle his noises. He’s turned his face to the side and his ears flush bright red, but the lean line of his neck muscles is on full display and Seoho can feel himself getting harder when he belatedly notices Geonhak’s cheek is shiny with tears. 

“That good?” he asks, and Geonhak immediately turns to glare at him through wet, glossy eye-whites. Geonhak’s facial expression is complicated and conflicted, filled with as much resentment as begrudging satisfaction from how well Seoho is filling him up, and Seoho thinks if he had less fears about getting too attached, he could fall for a gaze like that, filled with fire that walks a thin line between lust and rage. Seoho has always been attracted to danger, after all, even if he’s long learned to stop looking for it in the worst ways. 

“You’re so pretty like this,” Seoho says, quietly. “Always pretty. Did you know?” 

“No one’s ever called me that,” Geonhak mutters, eyelashes fluttering in his surprise, and Seoho hums carefully. “Hot, maybe. But not pretty.” 

“Oh yeah, can confirm you’re very hot,” Seoho says. “I think your insides are burning me.” 

“I will fucking kick you in the face.” 

“Please don’t,” Seoho says. He kind of wants to kiss Geonhak, swallow that irritation and melt it down so that Geonhak smiles at him instead, but he bites down on the urge. Intimacy isn’t his thing, anyways. “My face is all I have to charm people with.” 

“You’re plenty charming,” Geonhak says. “You just overcompensate by being annoying as hell.” 

“What a shame you think that way,” Seoho says. “But also, I was going to tell you that you’d probably be the prettiest, if I didn’t exist.” 

“You’re insufferable,” Geonhak says, but he laughs softly, and Seoho is filled with an odd urge to make him laugh _more_. Geonhak wraps his fingers around Seoho’s forearm, then, and pulls at him. “Lean down.” 

“What?” Seoho does as Geonhak instructs, blinking in confusion. Maybe Geonhak is uncomfortable, or wants Seoho to change their position, but in the midst of Seoho’s deliberation, Geonhak simply pulls Seoho in by the back of his neck so that their faces are even closer and kisses him on the mouth. “Oh.” 

“Mhm.” Geonhak’s fingers snake into Seoho’s hair before he’s pulling. Hard. 

“Ah,” Seoho says with a half whimper, putting on his coy voice once Geonhak lets go and drops his hand from Seoho’s hair to palm at Seoho’s chest absentmindedly. “Geonhak, that hurts.” 

He means to voice it like a grievance, but hair pulling isn’t exactly something he hates _,_ and it was only a matter of time before Geonhak learned to take advantage of it, took notice of how Seoho’s hips would jerk every time Geonhak used a bit of his strength instead of trying to be gentle. Geonhak must be very aware of it now, every twitch and tremble in Seoho’s body speaking louder than anything else even if Seoho does a decent job controlling his reactions otherwise. 

“I should be mean, too,” Geonhak says. “Since it surprises you into having manners and calling me by my name.” 

“Oh no~” Seoho says, blinking with as much faux-innocence as he can muster. “What a punishment for me.” 

“Nevermind, you twisted fuck,” Geonhak says, and Seoho laughs. 

Geonhak has been steadily leaking precum onto his stomach by the time Seoho deems Geonhak deserving of direct stimulation, and he drops his head back in full and total surrender when Seoho makes a semi-loose circle with his fingers for Geonhak to thrust into. Seoho fucks into Geonhak’s heat with a quicker pace in the meantime, teasing Geonhak for a few seconds with the nonchalant weight and warmth of his hand and unabashedly enjoying it until Geonhak’s sobbing with frustration, begging for Seoho to give him _more, pretty please, deeper, just more—_

His breaths are fast and shallow, the muscles in his abdomen clenching as he tries to hold off on coming from Seoho’s fingers abruptly tightening around him, rewarding him with unrelenting friction— what he’s holding off for, Seoho doesn’t know because isn’t this what Geonhak has been chasing this whole time? 

And then Geonhak is spilling onto his own stomach with an almost pained whimper, and just the visual of it alone is enough for Seoho’s self control to disappear into nothing, along with the way Geonhak’s entire body tightens around Seoho and sucks him in deeper, the way Geonhak keeps murmuring _Seoho_ in between aborted breaths and gasps like he’s still wanting Seoho despite having already found sweet relief. Geonhak’s clutching at him, at Seoho’s arms, wrists, thighs from where they’re pressed up against Geonhak’s ass, and Seoho finally accepts defeat, ignores his resolve to remain calm in favor of fucking hard and fast into Geonhak, listens intently to Geonhak’s whines of post-orgasm sensitivity to bring himself over the edge. 

“Oh, that’s really…” Seoho can hear Geonhak mumble as he grabs at Seoho’s hand and intertwines their fingers, squeezing affectionately at Seoho’s palm while Seoho comes down from his high, barely aware of anything beyond the sound of his own pulse rushing through his ears like a much too loud ocean. It’s weird, that Seoho feels more embarrassed by the intimacy of Geonhak’s hand touching his considering how they’re currently arranged, but Seoho isn’t _used_ to Geonhak, who responds well to Seoho’s teasing and humor and _body_ , and he’s not sure what it means that he doesn’t feel like letting go of Geonhak’s hand anytime soon. 

Duty calls, or maybe just discomfort. Seoho’s prying himself off of Geonhak and pulling out of him as soon as he can feel his legs again, laughing when Geonhak makes a face at the sensation that probably matches Seoho’s expression to a tee. 

After Seoho’s disposed of the condom and nears the bed again with his boxers on, meaning to check if Geonhak’s feeling okay, Geonhak grabs him by the bicep and unceremoniously pulls Seoho on top of him. 

“Hey,” Seoho says. He’s been thrown off balance because Geonhak didn’t give him any time to prepare, and Geonhak’s holding onto him in a way that prevents Seoho from moving around too much. Geonhak kisses at Seoho’s neck, lips ticklish enough to make Seoho squirm. “You did this before, too. Shower first.” 

“Cuddle now, shower later,” Geonhak mumbles into Seoho’s cheek, bottom lip dragging across Seoho’s skin. His bangs are damp from where they’re pressing against Seoho’s temple. He smells like sex, and so does Seoho. “We should shower together. Save water.” 

“It’s going to be a waste of water and you know that,” Seoho says. “You’re clingy.” 

“Is that bad?” Geonhak asks, and Seoho wants to bully him, only Geonhak is staring at him attentively like he wants a genuine answer to that question so he can keep Seoho’s preferences in mind, and that makes it difficult for Seoho to lie even if it’s in his best interest to do so. 

“...No,” Seoho says. “I just don’t…” 

“Not used to it?” 

“Yeah,” Seoho says, eventually. He pushes himself up by his hands and winces at the stickiness of his stomach when his skin separates from Geonhak’s. “This, though? This is gross.” 

“Haha.” Geonhak says, taking zero offense. He lets his fingers walk a trail down Seoho’s spine, then further down before he’s cupping them together to knead at Seoho’s ass. “I’ll eat you out to make it up to you?” 

At the suggestion, Seoho nearly chokes, and Geonhak laughs at him, eyes curling into those crescents that make him look deceptively innocent and Seoho unreasonably bewitched. 

“I’ve been wanting to ever since I saw you in those jeans earlier today,” Geonhak asks. Said jeans are on the floor a few feet away from them, and Geonhak tilts his head as he gives Seoho puppy eyes, which makes Seoho more tempted to give in despite his lingering apprehension. “Is it a no go?” 

“I didn’t say that,” Seoho says evenly, licking his lips, and Geonhak pecks him on the cheek happily before he’s rolling Seoho over so that Seoho’s lying on his stomach, not caring whether his sheets get dirty as he begins to leave a trail of kisses down Seoho’s back and tugs the waistband of Seoho’s boxers down. 

✧

Seoho’s first impression of Geonhak is that he’s self-assured, if not cocky. Confident enough in his own looks to go platinum blonde, dressed like he knew where his best features were and how to flaunt them. (Seoho is still undecided between Geonhak’s shoulders, and thighs, and pecs, and— and then he gives up on deciding because he’s not supposed to like Geonhak enough to have a favorite feature on him at all.) 

The silver watch on Geonhak’s wrist had looked weighted, expensive but well worn. Whatever cologne he’d used was only vaguely familiar because of how many times Youngjo’s made Seoho smell samples in brief trips to luxury perfume shops, and it was a scent that lingered on everything, even the sweater Geonhak had let Seoho borrow the morning after. 

Seoho’s known plenty of boys with money who didn’t make great use of it. He hadn’t been particularly enthused by the implications of Geonhak coming from wealth, but the subtlety on Geonhak’s part had been a nice change from cheap, in your face aftershave and even cheaper arrogance in place of real confidence. 

Even then, Seoho had been more interested in finding out why Geonhak kept dropping his eyes to Seoho’s mouth like he wanted something but didn’t know how to ask, and not much else beyond that. Neither of them had been drinking, both playing some extent of chaperone for their friends, and Seoho had clenched his jaw once he started picking up on Geonhak’s demure looks in his direction, knowing neither of them would have anything other than themselves to blame for feeling drunk on mutual want. 

First impressions are safe. One-dimensional, easy to place in a box regardless of whether they’re close to the truth or completely off. A simple conclusion, a brief memory, a sensation, even. When it comes to the lines of intersection drawing him to a shared point in time with other people, Seoho doesn’t want anything more. 

He’d figured Geonhak would leave behind something like a _taste,_ after they were done having their fun with each other. Seoho hadn’t known what that taste would be, when Geonhak had accepted his casual invitation with the type of ease that made it seem like he’d done this before. Enough times that the notion of taking a stranger home with him hadn’t struck him as anything unusual, or special. It didn’t matter. Seoho hadn’t cared about being either of those things. 

Then Geonhak had fumbled. 

Dropped his keys while trying to open his own apartment door, asked Seoho if he wanted something to drink or eat or— Seoho had interrupted with _yeah, you,_ just to watch the way Geonhak’s eyes flashed with surprise before they were replaced with something undeniably darker. Seoho was not good with emotions, even worse at reading between the lines when it came to other people’s feelings towards him, but he knew how to recognize something simple like lust. 

Yet he’d been thrown in for another loop when Geonhak, wide and imposing and low voiced, physically built to _conquer,_ had settled back into the softness of his own sheets and let Seoho take him however Seoho wanted. Had let his touch wash over Seoho like soft velour, hands large enough to cover so much of Seoho at once while only allowing the smallest fraction of his strength to pass through his fingertips like he knew he could unintentionally bruise Seoho if he wasn’t careful. 

In between quiet, low gasps as Seoho had worked diligently to divest Geonhak of his clothes, Geonhak had reassured Seoho he was _clean,_ that he’d gotten tested over a year ago and hadn’t been with anyone else like this since then. 

And Seoho, shoving down telling incredulity and ignoring all the implications of ending up in Geonhak's bed when it seemed an unlikely occurrence, had told Geonhak that he was clean too, because he was. 

Seoho had expected to wake up in the morning and taste regret _,_ or maybe greet the ever familiar emptiness in the back of his throat that he was so accustomed to swallowing down every single time he subconsciously searched for human warmth and inevitably came up short. 

Regret is not what Geonhak tastes like. He is nothing Seoho expects him to be, and he tastes a lot like _want_ Seoho can’t scrub off of himself no matter how many times he tries— 

Like an invisible stripe of saline desperation drawn out on warm skin, or something syrupy sweet on Seoho’s tongue, remnants of his own lip gloss and a sort-of stranger’s saliva lingering in the casual wake of being mapped out, explored, _taken over—_

Geonhak is dangerous in every way Seoho is not, assurances running thick where Seoho’s run paper thin, with intentions much kinder than the ones Seoho ever allows himself to harbor. Seoho is not so much a good judge of character as he is an expert at avoiding sticking around long enough to find out whether he’s _right,_ and Geonhak is a puppy that keeps pushing his way out of the box Seoho tries to place him in, ripping and flattening the cardboard because he hasn’t yet learned how to be gentle with his paws. 

_Boundaries,_ Seoho thinks, every time he finds himself watching Geonhak’s mouth for too long, tracing the soft angles of that perfect pout, and he never sets them. 

It’s hard to misplace the way Geonhak’s face lights up when Seoho notices a partially completed model on Geonhak’s desk out of genuine interest and not something dismissive, becomes harder to pull back when Geonhak’s voice goes small and quiet just a while later, as if he’s not entirely sure whether he’s bored Seoho too much with his explanation for his project. 

It invokes something foolish in Seoho, an urge to reassure Geonhak in all the ways he might not have been able to ask for from anyone else. Makes him want to tell Geonhak secrets that aren’t so much secrets as they are omissions in Seoho’s usual conversations, because he’s never dreaded anything more than filling silence with confessions that leave him feeling raw and exposed from the inside out. 

_You’re good with your hands,_ Seoho tells him, because it’s true, and he’s watched, observed, known Geonhak not very long but long enough to have realized by now that Geonhak learns best through touch. 

“I’ve always liked making things,” is Geonhak’s mild-mannered reply. He fiddles with his watch, adjusting it so that the face of it is aligned on the same plane as the back of his hand, and Seoho notes that Geonhak’s shoulders look a little more relaxed. “When I was little, I liked making clay figurines. As long as you gave me something to mess around with, whether it was paper or dough or sand, even, I could sit still and be quiet for hours. Apparently.” 

“I would have probably been the kid who destroyed your elaborate sand castles at the beach,” Seoho says, and Geonhak wrinkles his nose at the mere suggestion of it, but his lips are twitching, a hint of a smile beginning to brighten up his face. “I’ve always liked messing things up.” 

“Do you really?” 

“At the very least, I like taking things apart,” Seoho says. “To see what the insides are made of.” He pauses, and considers his own words. Recalls how tightly he’d held onto his dolls when he was younger, devastated that their seams were splitting apart and worried that the stuffing would all fall out if his mother didn’t sew and repair them fast enough. “I won’t purposely break things I know can’t be easily put back together, though.” 

Something uncomfortable wells up in the back of Seoho’s throat when he notices Geonhak watching him intently. He pushes up his glasses in the midst of brushing his cheek with his knuckles, runs his hands through his hair and does not think about whether he’s revealed too much. “I should head out. It’s getting late, so...” 

“You won’t stay?” Geonhak asks. He sounds forlorn, almost, and it makes Seoho feel as if he’s leaving a stray puppy in the snow. 

Maybe it’s that Geonhak clearly wants to keep up with whatever they’ve started, because he keeps calling and texting and _kissing_ Seoho like he’s familiarizing himself with the twists and turns of a puzzle he’s intentionally not solving, and Seoho is unsure how to navigate a playing field with an opponent whose goal is to play without ever scoring a win. 

“It’s a weekday,” Seoho says. “Some of us have work, and classes.”

“You never skip lectures or shifts?” Geonhak asks. 

Seoho licks his lips. “Not unless something unavoidable comes up.” Against his will, he recalls the sound of brakes screeching and the scent of burning rubber and the spike of _panic_ , but he quickly dismisses the memory before it makes him flinch. 

“Oh, you’re disciplined,” Geonhak remarks. 

“Not particularly,” Seoho says. A pinprick of pain reminds him that his teeth are sinking too hard into his bottom lip, and he forces his jaw to relax. Presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth, letting metal hit the top. “It’s just a habit.” 

“Still.” Geonhak doesn’t continue whatever it is he wants to say. Maybe he’s sensed that Seoho’s thoughts have strayed where he doesn’t want Geonhak to follow and he’s being considerate. “If you’re too tired tomorrow morning, I can drive you.” 

Seoho blinks at Geonhak, who’s sitting on the bed with his back leaned up against his headboard, one leg leisurely crossed over the other. “Are you like this with everyone?” 

“Like what?” 

“Going out of your way to be nice,” Seoho says. It’s misleading, but implying that he might find Geonhak’s offer misleading would be worse. “You shouldn’t—” 

“You seem tired this week,” Geonhak interrupts. He frowns. “And it wouldn’t be out of the way. I go to the gym in the mornings, so dropping you off at home wouldn’t be a huge deal.” 

“I seem tired?” 

“Yeah,” Geonhak says. “You were less…” he chuckles, before one corner of his lips pulls up slightly into a smirk, and Seoho can feel his body tense up at the switch in demeanor. “...You didn’t have as much energy when you were fucking me earlier.” 

Seoho nearly chokes. “I’m going home.” 

“I’m just teasing, c’mon,” Geonhak says, laughing as he reaches out to grab the hem of Seoho’s shirt so that he doesn’t leave. “Lazy sex is just as good.” 

“I had a long day, you can’t expect me to...” Seoho says, trailing off as soon as he sees the way Geonhak is looking at him, smug and content. 

“You wanted to see me that badly?” Geonhak grabs more of Seoho’s shirt, tugging Seoho closer to him and making Seoho sit down on the bed. “That’s sweet.” 

Seoho averts his eyes. It wouldn’t be difficult for him to escape Geonhak’s iron grip, but he tells himself he’s staying still only because it’s too troublesome to leave such convenient warmth. “My offer from that other time still stands.” 

“Mm?” 

“I don’t mind switching,” Seoho says. When he looks up, he startles at Geonhak’s careful gaze. “If you want.” 

“Offering your ass to me?” Seoho expects a lewd gesture to follow the question, but Geonhak only leans in and nuzzles at Seoho’s jaw. “How romantic.” 

“I don’t think you have the right idea of rom—” Seoho yelps when Geonhak tackles him, knocking the breath right out of Seoho. “You can’t just run me over like a truck for no _reason._ ” 

“You’re fun to attack,” Geonhak says. “Maybe you should have fucked me harder if you didn’t want me to have all this extra energy.” 

“Listen—” 

Taking an easy opportunity, Geonhak kisses Seoho before he can finish his complaint. “I’m kidding. Although I think I heard your joints crack earlier, so maybe we should take it easy—” 

Seoho shoves at Geonhak’s chest. There’s not much budge, as expected, but he knows his irritation has been conveyed because Geonhak laughs into Seoho’s hair, tucking Seoho closer into him all the while as he apologizes with an amused _sorry, sorry, I’m joking_. 

“You’re the worst,” Seoho says. 

“How do you think people feel about you then?” 

“I’m going to kick you off your own bed,” Seoho says, but he makes no move to do so, and instead lets himself relax in Geonhak’s arms. “What time do you wake up tomorrow?” 

“6:30,” Geonhak says. “It takes me like twenty minutes to get out the door, though, so you can sleep in until 6:45, maybe.” 

“Sleep in?” Seoho snorts. “This is a crime against my health. What do you mean by sleep in.” 

“It’s good to wake up early so you can get more done,” Geonhak says, and Seoho closes his eyes, not bothering with a reply as Geonhak gets up briefly to turn off the lights. “That’s a yes on me driving you home?” 

“Yup. Toss me in the car when you’re leaving, don’t even wake me up,” Seoho says. 

“Okay,” Geonhak agrees, with an easy exhale-laugh. His bed is spacious enough for the two of them to sleep comfortably without touching each other, but he always settles into Seoho like he’s trying to steal Seoho’s body heat, despite having so much of it himself. “I’ll try my best to make sure you don’t bump your head on the door when I’m shoving you in the passenger’s seat.” 

“See,” Seoho mumbles. “Your little fancy sports car is extremely impractical. It barely fits you, and you’re not even that tall—” 

“Careful with those stones you’re throwing from your glass house,” Geonhak says. “How practical is your motorcycle, tell me?” 

“I don’t like cars. Or driving them. It’s...” Seoho abruptly catches himself, realizing he’s lost his brain to mouth filter because of the sleepiness. 

“Why?” Geonhak sounds more awake now. “Why don’t you like them?” 

“Nevermind,” Seoho says, and he can physically feel Geonhak make a displeased noise, barely audible because it’s more a body-sigh than anything else. 

“What about sitting in cars?” Geonhak asks. “That’s okay?” 

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Seoho says. “You drive like an old grandma anyways—” 

“Because we’re always in heavy traffic, asshole,” Geonhak says, but it’s obvious that he’s relieved to hear that Seoho doesn’t have an issue with being a passenger in his car. His whole body relaxes, and he doesn’t seem to want to know anything else. “Let’s go to sleep, okay?” 

“I will, if you don’t snore,” Seoho whispers, and Geonhak knees him in the thigh. 

Geonhak whines in his sleep. Seoho thinks the noises Geonhak makes sound a little bit like the lullabies that used to help him fall asleep as a child, strangely enough.

✧

“You look less like a zombie these days,” Hwanwoong says when he finds Seoho in the kitchen, eating small mouthfuls of brownie-cake straight from the glass baking pan. 

Parchment paper crinkles noisily as Seoho scrapes at the hard bits of double fudge stubbornness. His hoodie sleeves are too long, so long that only his fingers are peeking out, and he should have pushed the material up if he wanted to be able to see what he was doing better, but it’s also cold. “Really?” 

“Yes, really,” Hwanwoong says. “Care to tell me why?” 

“I’ve been taking your advice,” Seoho says. “Getting more beauty sleep.” He flutters his lashes, as invisible as they are behind the frames of his glasses while being sparse, too, and Hwanwoong laughs. 

“There’s definitely something else,” Hwanwoong says. “It’s not just that you look less like a zombie. You’re less sad, too.” 

“What’s with everyone saying I’m sad?” Seoho uses his top front teeth to clean the spoon until all he can taste when he licks is steel and no more chocolate. 

“Because you were,” Hwanwoong says. “Still are, sometimes, when you forget to hide it.” 

“You worry too much,” Seoho says. “Should I ask the department to give you more solo performances?” An empty threat. 

“Like I’m not already drowning in rehearsals and my other classes,” Hwanwoong says, with a sigh. “They still ask about you.” 

“Do they?” He drops the spoon a little harder than he means to, and the clatter of it hitting the glass baking pan is almost too loud. 

Concern feels like a luxury in a world where all Seoho can do is survive, though watching people pursue things without him, when he used to be right by their side, doesn’t sting as much as it probably should. It’s only a fraction as suffocating as running into a former classmate and having to make small talk, but maybe that’s because Seoho’s let go of the past and he doesn’t want reminders of it clawing at his back and forcing him to turn around after working so hard to forget it. Sometimes people look at him like they’re searching for bits and pieces of the person they used to know him as, and Seoho doesn’t know how to tell them there’s nothing there. 

“They want to know how you’re doing,” Hwanwoong says. “I usually say you’re okay, but I don’t know how true that is.” 

“It’s mostly true,” Seoho says. _I miss dancing with you, so much, and there’s a gaping hole in my chest, and I’m more afraid of who people really are than dreams falling apart_ , he doesn’t say. “Sometimes, though, my arm aches something terrible from bending in a weird position to scratch my back.”

“Fucker,” Hwanwoong says, laughing. “I’m trying to have a heart to heart with you.” 

“I’m as okay as I can be. That’s all I want,” Seoho says. 

“I want you to be okay with wanting more,” Hwanwoong replies. Insists. “Didn’t I tell you a million times you deserve everything?” 

“And yet,” Seoho says, with a playful tilt of his head, “you always eat _my_ leftovers in the fridge—” 

“Listen—” and then Hwanwoong’s protests and excuses are lost to the trill of Seoho’s laughter, dying in his throat and transforming into an unhappy squeal as he realizes he doesn’t have a worthy retort prepared. 

“You would tell me if you had a secret boyfriend,” Hwanwoong says tentatively, when Seoho is packing away the rest of the brownies to put in the fridge. He nudges Seoho’s side with his knuckle. “Right?”

“I find it rather dull that in your eyes the only secrets a person can have revolves around their love life,” Seoho replies. “What if I’m actually a spy from a different country? Or a con artist pretending to be a disillusioned college student, waiting for my next big money making escapade?” 

Life would be more exciting if Seoho got to consolidate all of the boring, painful, self loathing moments into a glossed over montage and got to slip on the mask of someone else’s identity, knowing everything would tie up at the end like a pretty ribbon regardless of the choices he makes now. 

Instead, life reads more like an ostentatiously written article in some academic journal, days cluttered with tedious events and thoughts and obligations instead of a sense of fulfillment like Seoho so hopefully used to think they would when he was younger. 

Hwanwoong rolls his eyes so hard Seoho thinks they might get stuck, if Hwanwoong isn’t careful. “I hate you.” 

“What if,” Seoho says, “I’m actually pining after Dongju—” 

“You’re so full of shit,” Hwanwoong says, before he promptly ends the conversation by tackling Seoho in a koala hug and sending both of them staggering out of the kitchen doorway and into the living room, where the hardwood floor is bright and warm from the sunlight filtering in through the open blinds. 

✧

Bad luck is no stranger to Seoho. He just doesn’t dwell much on the mishaps he runs into, and he’s not so self-centered enough either to think the world revolves around placing obstacle after obstacle on his personal timeline. 

He’s tempted to think fate is pulling a prank on him, however, when Geonhak coaxes him into a quick trip to the mall and doesn’t tell him until they’re already there that he wants Seoho’s help with picking out a _gift_. 

“What is this for, exactly?” Seoho asks. 

For a moment, he thinks Geonhak might have a girlfriend or something, and as much as it makes his stomach feel like it’s being weighed down with rocks because Geonhak is supposed to be _good_ , supposed to be _safe,_ the possibility remains. Seoho has met plenty of people who turned out to be different from his first impression of them, and he should learn to stop being so surprised when it happens. 

“Dongju did well on a test that’s been stressing him out,” Geonhak says. A couple carrying too many shopping bags to be comfortable passes by them, and he wraps his arm around Seoho’s waist to pull Seoho in towards him so that Seoho can avoid colliding with them. “I was thinking of getting him something to celebrate.” 

Seoho’s first thought is _Dongju would like that,_ because Hwanwoong always talks about how much Dongju’s face lights up when he gets gifts from Hwanwoong, and then his next one is… “Wait. You know Dongju?” 

“He’s a close friend.” Geonhak blinks at Seoho. “Do _you_ know Dongju?” 

“Long eyelashes, dopey eyes, bites people,” Seoho says. “Hwanwoong is his boyfriend. Same guy?” 

“Yeah,” Geonhak says, amused by Seoho’s succinct description. “I’ve met Hwanwoong once or twice. Why does your face look like that?” 

“I live with Hwanwoong,” Seoho says, and Geonhak’s eyes widen into something curious before they slowly turn playful. He’s probably not as averse to his social circles intersecting, but Seoho compartmentalizes for a reason. “He’s my best friend, I guess.”

“That’s cute, living with your best friend,” Geonhak says. 

“Maybe, if you like a tiny terror for a housemate, who steals your food and sleeps weird hours and dances until he passes out.” Seoho laughs, recalling the way Hwanwoong tries to talk to him in his sleep sometimes, with a mix of incomprehensible affection and beat counting, or the way Hwanwoong gets annoyed when Seoho can’t magically interpret what he’s said through his mouthful of toothpaste. 

Geonhak is smiling at him gently, and Seoho feels weird because he hasn’t said anything particularly funny or heartwarming. It’s like Geonhak sees more than what Seoho intended to reveal, and that’s risky, when Seoho is usually better about being private. “What?” 

“I haven’t really heard you talk about your friends,” Geonhak says, but he doesn’t elaborate. “That sounds fun, though.”

“Living on your own sounds even better,” Seoho counters. “Has Dongju brainwashed you to the point where you think it’d be _nice_ to live with him? You can blink twice if you need help, Geonhak.” 

Now Geonhak is the one to laugh. “He’s not that bad. He’s a little bit dramatic, and usually wants things to go his way but he thinks very hard about how to make other people happy.” He squeezes Seoho’s side, briefly, before dropping his hand. “I’ve lived with other people before.”

“Have you?” 

“Yes,” Geonhak says. “Before we stopped being friends.” Seoho’s momentarily stunned into silence by the too-casual remark, and then Geonhak smiles at him again, friendly but obviously meant to prevent Seoho from asking questions. “I guess you and Hwanwoong haven’t gotten on each other’s nerves enough to want to kill each other yet?” 

“That...probably won’t happen,” Seoho says. Hwanwoong always pretends not to listen when Seoho nags, but he never repeats mistakes that he knows really upset Seoho. “Although this complicates things.” 

“What does?” 

“Our friends being boyfriends,” Seoho says. “Hwanwoong doesn’t know that I…” a whiff of something distinctly sweet makes Seoho lose his train of thought, and he only glances back at Geonhak when Geonhak tugs at the chain hanging from Seoho’s belt. 

“Does Hwanwoong not know you’re into guys, or…”

“He knows. That’s not the problem,” Seoho says. Hwanwoong had watched Seoho’s heart break into a million pieces once, as much as Seoho tried to hide it from himself, tried to hide it so that no one would notice, and he’d cried into Seoho’s chest that he hoped Seoho wouldn’t have to feel this way forever. He knows all sorts of things about Seoho even if Seoho has never come right out and said them directly. “He just gets concerned, and I don’t like it because I know why he worries.” 

It would be logical for Geonhak to ask _why_ Hwanwoong worries, and Seoho, in a rare moment of curiosity, wonders what Geonhak has heard about Seoho beyond what Seoho has shown him. Seoho does his best to be easy going, to come across as frivolous as the rest of his silly jokes, but that’s only one angle he’s conveniently shifted to Geonhak’s direct line of sight. It’d be impossible for Geonhak’s view of him to be so isolated, considering how much people talk even when they don’t mean to sensationalize someone else’s tragedy. 

Instead, Geonhak asks, “You don’t like people worrying about you?” 

“I would rather annoy them,” Seoho admits. “I want people to smile and laugh when they’re with me, but I don’t want them to care so much that it hurts.”

“It just means they don’t want you to suffer,” Geonhak says. “Right?” 

“Yeah,” Seoho says, and he doesn’t think about waking up in an unfamiliar hospital room with a floral patterned wallpaper that was just as suffocating as the way betrayal wrapped its cold fingers around his throat when the nurse told him Hwanwoong had been sleeping at his side the whole time, and that no other visitors had come in. Hwanwoong had been the one to worry and nag when he’d felt Seoho was being reckless, and in the end he, too, was the one who’d stayed with Seoho after Seoho made mistakes he couldn’t take back. “Doesn’t it seem futile to have two people suffering when you can just have one person get through it on their own?” 

“Is that how you treat him?” Geonhak asks. “Ignore his pain because there’s no point in feeling it yourself?” 

Seoho thinks about late night runs to Hwanwoong’s favorite tea and snack shop where he’d feed Hwanwoong mouthfuls of egg waffles and listen to Hwanwoong complain until he was half asleep and practically drooling onto Seoho’s sweatshirt, fingers curled into the sleeves like he was afraid of Seoho disappearing if he didn’t hold on tight enough. Occasionally peeling Hwanwoong forcefully off the floor of empty practice rooms even though he wasn’t in the same department anymore but still knew the hallways like the back of his hand, because he didn’t want Hwanwoong to get sick. Worrying about Dongju being a good fit for Hwanwoong when Hwanwoong had first started seeing him, because Hwanwoong had a tendency to attract assholes and Seoho was protective. 

“Oh,” Seoho says, dully, and Geonhak snorts. 

“Welcome to the land of human emotion.” 

“An amusement park I didn’t want admission tickets to,” Seoho says. Geonhak’s laugh is quiet, but he leans into Seoho enough that his bangs tickle Seoho’s cheek and Seoho can smell his cologne. He’s dressed nicely today, too, ivory sweater a stark contrast against the black leather of Seoho’s jacket, paired with light wash jeans that are snug on his thighs, and casual sneakers. 

_Careful_ , Seoho reminds himself, swallowing down attraction that burns like liquid fire down his throat despite how resolutely he’s dismissing it. He doesn’t care much for rules, but it probably wouldn’t be too smart to kiss Geonhak in public where all sorts of people can see them.

Geonhak drags Seoho to a fancy jewelry store Seoho would have never stepped in himself otherwise, with lights that line the perimeters of the store like blinding polka dots and furniture that looks too bleach white to even sit on, and judging by the way the lady at the counter immediately beams at Geonhak when he enters with Seoho in tow, she must recognize him as a regular. 

She smiles at Seoho, too, asks brightly if he’s the one Geonhak is shopping for and laughs sweet as honey when Geonhak flushes bright red and says _no, not today._

They’re close enough to fall into an easy back and forth over what would be suitable to gift Dongju. Seoho isn’t so sure that he’s going to be of any help, and maybe Geonhak has brought him here for moral support more than anything else, so he lets himself fade into the background and listen to Geonhak describe Dongju’s personality and taste in fashion while staring at the ceiling tiles, dissecting the patterns on them and rearranging them in his head. 

It isn’t long, though, before Geonhak nudges at Seoho to get his attention. “What do you think? Between these three?” he asks, in reference to the three silver bracelets laid out neatly on the glass counter, each adorned with various styles of chains and charms. 

One of them draws Seoho’s attention immediately. It has a singular pendant, a stylistic, textured carving of a bear’s face, glazed over on both sides with facets of blue and purple that have a shattered effect. Its soft, droopy eyes remind Seoho a little bit of the way Dongju looks when he sleeps, and he can already envision the chain and bear dangling off of Dongju’s wrist, making a perfect match with his colorful outfits. 

“This one,” Seoho says, tapping lightly on the part of the glass counter directly below the bracelet. 

“I like that one, too,” Geonhak says, offering him a small smile, and then he turns to the sales associate to finalize the purchase. 

“Now, what do you want to eat? Or drink?” Geonhak asks, after they’ve left the store. Wrapped up in matte black tissue paper and a velvet ribbon with a pattern crossed between that of a bluebird and sparrow egg, Dongju’s gift looks all the more delicate in Geonhak’s hand. “I’ll treat you.” 

“Am I a pet?” Seoho jokes, and even though he can see it coming, he doesn’t dodge when Geonhak hip-checks him.

“If anything, you’re a fox,” Geonhak says. “Bright hair. Sharp nose. Sleek eyes.” His gaze drops to Seoho’s mouth, and Seoho backs up instinctively because he recognizes that look. “The smile that always makes you look like you’re up to no good.” 

“It’s true, I’m never up to any good,” Seoho replies. “You don’t have to get me anything for spending time with you. I wouldn’t have come if I really didn’t want to.” 

“I know. You don’t do anything unless you genuinely want to, and that makes me want to reward you more,” Geonhak says. Seoho expects a bad innuendo to follow but it never comes, and when he looks up, Geonhak’s just smiling at him. 

“Because it’s so rare that I’m agreeable?” 

“You’re always agreeable,” Geonhak says. “You just make a big show out of pretending you’re not.” 

Geonhak isn’t very far off; Seoho is easy to tame for the right people but it’s jarring, regardless, to know just how quickly Geonhak has noticed that when they haven’t been in each other’s company more than a handful of times. It’s as if Geonhak has the same frame of reference as someone who’s known Seoho for years, familiar with the ins and outs of Seoho’s temperament only because of prolonged, constant exposure. 

“A rather foolish leap of faith,” Seoho settles on, eventually. “You’ll change your mind.” 

“I probably won’t,” Geonhak says, and there’s no smugness in the way he states it. Seoho’s chest burns with something hot and consuming and terrible at the way Geonhak’s smiling at him, still, until he’s able to wash it down with passion fruit tea that Geonhak buys for him, and he chews the small, round seeds noisily all the while, crushing rebellious attraction that’s starting to grow beyond its physical origins. 

✧

“You don’t want me to drop you off at home?” Geonhak asks. They’re back at school, now. “You don’t have any other classes today, if I recall correctly.”

He’d asked about Seoho’s general schedule the last time Seoho had gone over to his apartment, and it’d seemed to come from a place of curiosity rather than a specific intention to utilize the information, so Seoho hadn’t felt weirded out by the question. Seoho had figured Geonhak would forget the details of his answer as soon as the moment passed, since Seoho was only good at remembering things like license plates and identification numbers but never which classes Hwanwoong had on what day unless Hwanwoong mentioned it in passing. 

Seoho stares at Geonhak in surprise. “Why do you remember my schedule?” 

Geonhak’s brows furrow, like he doesn’t understand Seoho’s reaction. “I asked for it, remember?” 

“Most people ask questions for fun,” Seoho replies, “not because they’re going to commit the answers to memory.”

“Raise your expectations for your friends, then,” Geonhak says. He reaches over and evens out Seoho’s hoodie strings, which are lime green just like the rest of the sweatshirt, before he ties them into a floppy bow. It’s probably a silly look against Seoho’s leather jacket, but Seoho doesn’t really mind. “Or your standards.” 

“The friends I keep close are...” Seoho pauses. Hwanwoong, who subjects himself to spicy food just for Seoho’s preferences and mumbles to Dongju when he thinks Seoho can’t hear them that Seoho is actually _very soft hearted_ even if he goes out of his way to mess with Dongju’s toy figurines. Youngjo, who tells Seoho at least once every shift they’re working together how happy he is to have Seoho in his life, despite knowing Seoho will only respond that Youngjo is giving him goosebumps. “Too bright and chipper for me, sometimes, but they’re good people.” 

“I’m not surprised,” Geonhak says. “You’re a good person.” 

Swallowing down a _you, too,_ Seoho just smiles at Geonhak unsurely and fusses at the hem of his hoodie. For someone who hasn’t seen Seoho at his worst but has probably heard enough, Geonhak is too confident, and it makes Seoho want to ask him why. 

“No.” Seoho looks down at his lap. “I was lucky.” Before Geonhak can argue, he continues with, “I’m going to drop by the library to look for some materials.” 

“Wow,” Geonhak says, and then his lips twitch. “Studious.” 

“Shut up,” Seoho says, which makes Geonhak laugh as he drums his fingers across the top of the steering wheel. Geonhak’s air freshener smells like a newly opened can of juice, and it’s relaxing Seoho enough that he’s not in a hurry to leave. “I’m picking up references for Hwanwoong, too, because he’s never free when the library’s open, so you’re not entirely wrong.” 

“I know you work hard,” Geonhak says. “You always look like you could use a nap.” 

“That could just be me gaming the night away,” Seoho says. “Thanks for entertaining me and buying me food, Blondie.” 

Instead of frowning like he usually does at the nickname, Geonhak just smirks at Seoho as he asks, “You’re gonna ride your little tricycle home later?” He’s referring to Seoho’s motorcycle, which is parked in a different part of campus. 

“I’ll find you and run you over first, before I head home,” Seoho says, lowly. “Stop calling it that.” 

“If its flashy owner grants me a test ride...” Geonhak says. His mouth is narrow even when pulled into a smirk, but whatever it lacks in width he overcompensates with obnoxiousness, dropping his hand to Seoho’s thigh and squeezing meaningfully. “I’ll reconsider.” 

“You want to drive it?” Seoho asks, cutting his eyes at the innuendo that’s waiting to happen, and picking his words accordingly so he can avoid it. “Or what.” 

Seoho wouldn’t allow it anyways, because he knows the consequences of chasing an adrenaline rush, knows not to break rules when breaking them means taking away things that matter to you. He’s just humoring Geonhak, and it seems like Geonhak’s only trying to get a rise out of him. 

Geonhak shakes his head with a smile. He takes his hand off of Seoho’s leg, and Seoho is almost annoyed at the loss of warmth before he remembers that he’d wanted Geonhak to stop touching him in the first place anyways. “You can drive. I just wanna come along for the ride.” 

“Maybe on one of my more generous days.” 

“Okay,” Geonhak says. “Let me visit your apartment, too, when that day comes.” 

“Su—” Seoho is about to agree before he thinks a little harder about what Geonhak’s just said, mentally playing back Geonhak’s additional request because his ears must have heard wrong. “Wait. No.” 

“No?” Geonhak repeats. “That’s cold, Seoho.” 

“It’s because—” Seoho waves his hands dismissively. “It’s messy, and there’s not much to look at.” Geonhak raises an eyebrow, but Seoho is, after all, a college boy living with yet another college boy and that doesn’t make for very high expectations, understandably. He thinks of how the foyer had looked this morning before he’d left for class, at the piles of shoes tossed haphazardly wherever there was space for them because their shoe rack was full. The kitchen counter and stove have too many stains that Seoho still has to clean when he scrapes together the willpower in his free time, and their living room is an utter hotspot of chaos, with cables and mail and packages that need to be sorted through. 

Any other visitor might be okay. Seoho keeps his bedroom door closed which means most people steer clear of invading his personal space, but Geonhak is probably not asking to come over just to look at the shared spaces of Seoho’s and Hwanwoong’s apartment. 

“I don’t mind,” Geonhak says. “It can’t be as bad as Giwook’s place, or Dongmyeong’s room.” 

“You’re going to want to see my room,” Seoho says. “My room is off limits.” Seoho barely lets _Hwanwoong_ come into his room, and Hwanwoong is bound by practically none of Seoho’s personal-bubble-rules. 

“Off limits?” Geonhak asks. “How am I going to warm your bed from outside of your room?” 

Seoho shoves him, ears flushing red, and Geonhak laughs. “It’s not like I’ll suck you off while Hwanwoong’s home.” Geonhak pauses. “Unless you’re into that sort of thing?” 

“I am _not,_ ” Seoho hisses, and he swats at Geonhak’s hand when Geonhak tries to intertwine their fingers. He manually unlocks the door on his side without a further word, making Geonhak laugh harder. “I hate you.” 

“Don’t say that,” Geonhak says. “I guess you’re in a hurry to go to the library now, huh?” Seoho makes an annoyed noise as he opens up one of the doors to the backseat to retrieve his backpack, and he knows Geonhak hears him because Geonhak is grinning at him with the sort of satisfaction that Seoho is undecided between punching or kissing off his face. 

“Stay warm when you’re going home,” Geonhak says, rolling down the window on the passenger’s side when Seoho steps onto the sidewalk. “Don’t get sick.” Despite him letting the syllables roll lazily off his tongue, he still sounds fond _,_ and it makes Seoho stare at him for a moment. Just when Seoho thinks he’s getting the hang of what Geonhak is like ( _mild, pretty, harmless_ ), Geonhak throws him off balance and surprises him all over again ( _lively, provocative, compelling_ ). Seoho isn’t defenseless against him, but he’s worked up, and he hates how easily Geonhak gets under his skin and settles there like it’s where he’s supposed to be. 

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Seoho says eventually, with crossed arms and his lower lip jutting out. “Drive safe, asshole.” 

“You’re so sweet,” Geonhak calls out after him, and Seoho doesn’t bother looking back or responding as he starts walking towards the library. 

He gets a text later, no words in the message other than an image file that makes Seoho inhale sharp and unsteady in an obscure aisle of the library as soon as he opens it: a close up, blurry selfie of Geonhak from the mouth downwards, bare neck and chest on display, with red kiss marks courtesy of Seoho judging by the placement of them everywhere below the invisible boundary of a shirt collar.

Seoho is mindful of leaving evidence of where his mouth has been. He doesn’t know who Geonhak’s friends are, or what they might think, or whether Geonhak wants to field hard questions from the people he’s surrounded by. 

Those marks were from a while ago, so Geonhak must have purposefully saved the picture to utilize at a future date. He probably likes being branded like that, or maybe Seoho’s reading too much into feelings that aren’t there. Whatever it is, Geonhak wanted trouble, and he certainly created it. 

Annoyed and half turned on, Seoho minimizes the photo and replies with: _r u rly going to do this._

 **blondie:** _thought you might get bored in the library :-) let me know the next time you’re free, okay?_

 **seoho** 🦊 **:** _never_

**blondie:** _don’t be like that, i’ll do whatever you likeeeeeeeeeee._

_thanks for coming shopping with me tho :-)_

Electing not to reply, Seoho grips onto the piece of paper where one of the librarians had scribbled call numbers and general titles to help him decide what references to use. 

So much for a peaceful rest of his afternoon. Seoho’s not the type to take pictures of himself often, let alone _questionable_ ones with intent, but for spite, maybe he could. It’d be well worth the embarrassment if it means riling up Geonhak enough for him to want to jerk off immediately, because that’s what Seoho’s going to do as soon as he gets home, and the satisfaction of eventually returning the favor is what drags him through the rest of his reference collecting. 

✧

“Where’s Hwanwoong?” Seoho asks, when he comes home a few days later after a work shift and finds Dongju sitting cross legged on the floor, putting together a jigsaw puzzle that looks only a third of the way complete. The shower is running and their water heater is making squeaky clicky noises, which are enough of an answer, so Seoho’s question is more a greeting than anything else. 

“Hi Seoho,” Dongju says, as Seoho sits down next to him. “So nice to see you, Seoho. How are you, Seoho.” 

Dongju is wearing a big fluffy white jacket, as is on brand of the rest of his pastel-dominated wardrobe, and it’s the kind of material that looks delicate but can probably run through the washer and dryer with no issues. His jeans are a faded, black-gray wash, but the real brightness in his outfit has been left at the doorway in his bright yellow sneakers. 

“Should I greet an unexpected intruder?” Seoho asks, and Dongju scowls at him, all intended sharpness of the expression lost to how exhausted he looks. Seoho feels a little bad, so he fixes Dongju’s hood for him until it’s no longer hanging inside out. The inside lining is warm, so he rubs his palms in it until Dongju pouts to make him stop. 

“I’m having a hard day.” Dongju finds the proper location of another puzzle piece, a blue one with pink edges, and pushes it into place with a loud click. “Give me a break.” 

“This _is_ me giving you a break,” Seoho says. If it were any other day, he’d have found something to continue teasing Dongju about until Dongju stood up and tried to chase him around the living room. But Dongju only brings out the jigsaw puzzles when he needs to take his mind off of things, and Seoho isn’t so mean as to disrupt that because he knows how it feels. “What’s up?” 

“Rough day,” Dongju says, merely another variation of his earlier complaint. His eyelashes flutter, as he blinks down at his hands and then glances up at Seoho. 

“Wanna talk about it?” 

“To _you?_ ” Dongju wrinkles his nose in barely concealed distaste, and Seoho sees, now, the same mannerisms that point to him being friends with Geonhak. 

“I’m a wonderful emotional consultant,” Seoho says. “Tell your favorite man what’s wrong.”

“You’re just going to absorb all my emotions into that giant weird void of yours,” Dongju says. It’s him being considerate, in his own special way, and Seoho’s glad that out of all the people in his life who insist on being a pest, Dongju at least doesn’t smother him in overwhelmingly positive forms of affection. 

When Seoho’s gaze drops to Dongju’s wrist, he catches a glimpse of the silver bracelet underneath the sleeve of Dongju’s fuzzy sweater. “Oh.” 

“What?” Dongju tracks where Seoho is looking, then makes a noise of acknowledgement. He jingles the little bear charm hanging off of it, dots of violet and periwinkle and blue shimmering whenever the light hits at the right angles. Seoho is tempted to ask whether he likes it, but Dongju’s soft, heart shaped smile as he stares at the jewelry is answer enough. “Geonhak gave this to me when I did well on my last test.” 

Seoho chews on his lower lip. “Your best friend.” 

“Yes.” Dongju nods. He makes an impressed hum. “So you do listen, sometimes.” 

Not really. Seoho hadn’t paid much attention to Dongju’s conversations with Hwanwoong because they were often accompanied with a lot of snuggling and crying, and Seoho isn’t a fan of watching people express vulnerability when he’s not the direct cause of it. 

If he’d paid more attention, he probably wouldn’t have approached Geonhak that first night at the sports bar so intently. Geonhak is pretty, no doubt, but Seoho doesn’t go for people he potentially knows, and he prefers messing around with strangers he knows he’ll have little chance of running into afterwards. Seoho wouldn’t have gone home with Geonhak at all if he’d known what he knows now, but there’s little he can do to take it back. 

“I am an excellent listener,” Seoho says. “Geonhak’s so nice to a little demon. Doesn’t he know there’s no point in being good to yo—” He shrieks when Dongju forgoes searching for more puzzle pieces and latches onto him, opening his mouth wide to try and sink teeth into Seoho’s arm. “Why do you jump so fast for someone who wheezes while climbing up two stairsteps— _Ah!_ ” 

“You’re so rude,” Dongju says. “How is Hwanwoong best friends with you?!” 

“He likes how smart I am, and my cooking probably,” Seoho says, pretending to shake Dongju off of his arm but not using his full strength. Despite how much he likes to push Dongju’s buttons, he won’t inflict any real damage lest Hwanwoong come after him for being a brute. “Meanwhile, everyone who willingly associates with you is a masochist—”

“Masochist?! I’m not the one who gets a piercing every time he’s bored because he likes the _sensation_ ,” Dongju yells. It’s at that moment that Hwanwoong comes into the living room, wearing only a pair of black sweatpants, hair still dripping water onto his shoulders from his shower. “Babe, can I kill him?” 

Hwanwoong frowns between the two of them, but it quickly turns into a smile when he sees Seoho’s raised eyebrows, the telltale sign that he’s just caused trouble on purpose. “What’s wrong?”

“Seoho says everyone who spends time with me of their own free will is a masochist,” Dongju wails. He’s softened the tone of his voice so that it matches the innocent droop of his fairy-like eyelashes, and Seoho snorts obnoxiously enough that Dongju smacks him without even looking in Seoho’s direction. 

“Well...” Hwanwoong says, laughing when Dongju puts his hands on his hands on his hips, miffed to receive no immediate support from his boyfriend. “I’m just kidding, Dongju, of course he’s wrong.” 

“You’re going to trust the opinion of someone you’ve hypnotized into finding you fun to be around?” Seoho asks. 

“Unbelievable,” Dongju says. “I think you’re the weird one. You’re the only one who refuses to be nice to me without hiding it under five hundred layers of asshole.” 

“Well, considering you haven’t run out of this apartment screaming yet,” Seoho says, “you’re probably into that kind of thing—”

“You—” Dongju grabs a fistful of Seoho’s shirt, and Seoho giggles. Dongju is all hisses and claws but no real strength, which makes it easy for Seoho to escape his grip because it’s nowhere strong enough to hold him in the first place. 

“Seoho is unmoved by the power of twinks,” Hwanwoong says. “There’s no hope for him. Don’t bother.” 

Dongju lets go of Seoho, crossing his arms. “Then what type is he into?” 

“He’s into _jocks_ ,” Hwanwoong replies, voice going all nasally and conspiratorial, and Seoho’s about to make a joke about Hwanwoong’s preferences in bed as per usual until he sees the way Dongju’s face has gone thoughtful and almost scheming. “He wants to get crushed into dust.” 

“...Have you seen Geonhak?” Dongju suddenly asks, and Seoho almost chokes. “You’d probably be into him. To be fair, everyone’s into him whether they admit to it or not, which might make you _not_ into him because you’re weird like that.” 

The irony of Dongju’s question has Seoho torn between laughing or crying. 

Has he _seen_ Geonhak? Not today, no. 

(The last time he’d seen Geonhak, Geonhak had been hell bent on practically crawling on top of Seoho and making out with him in the passenger’s seat of Geonhak’s too-cramped car. Seoho’s protests had fallen on deaf ears as Geonhak laughed soft and breathy against his cheek, pulling the lever that would make the entire seat recline and laughing harder when Seoho squeaked in surprise before he’d captured Seoho’s lips against his.) 

Hwanwoong sits down on the couch behind where Seoho and Dongju are sitting on the floor. He dries his hair with a small towel as he asks, “Is Geonhak seeing anyone?” 

“ _No._ He’s married to working out,” Dongju says disdainfully. “And he doesn’t like meeting new people. He’ll hang out with someone for two months and still not have their phone number, somehow, and I’m always the person people contact to ask where he is.” Hwanwoong laughs, and his amusement probably fills the hollow part of Seoho’s concurrent chuckle. 

“Well?” Dongju asks Seoho, just as Seoho’s considering how quietly he can escape to the kitchen. “Do you know Geonhak? Do you want to see pictures of him?” 

“Um—” 

“He’d be good for you,” Hwanwoong says, clapping Seoho on the shoulder. It’s a good thing Seoho doesn’t have any self-incriminating confessions stuck in his throat, or else Hwanwoong might have knocked them out of him by sheer force. “He’s the sort of stupid-adorable that’ll get the stick out of your ass—” 

“Last time I checked,” Seoho says, “the one who most often has something in his ass is _not_ me—” small hands wrap around the sides of his neck, then, and he starts laughing and squirming away from Hwanwoong’s icy fingertips. 

“Fuck you, even though I walked into that one,” Hwanwoong says after he lets go of Seoho, while Dongju’s shriek of laughter turns into silent shaking against the couch. “I’m going to kick both of you out of my apartment.” 

“Good luck rotting away because of your own meals,” Seoho says. 

That’s putting it lightly. One time Hwanwoong put cardboard in the oven and they’d only narrowly avoided an apartment wide fire because Seoho had been home and he’d caught the smell two minutes in. It’d taken a lot of open windows, all their portable fans, and the rest of the afternoon before every room started smelling a little less like poison. 

“I’d survive _just_ fine, actually,” Hwanwoong says. “There’s like ten delivery options around the neighborhood, and none of them come with an unwanted side dish: an asshole of a housemate.” 

Dongju taps at the outer corners of his eyes, wiping away tears that must have squeezed out from him laughing so hard. “So,” he starts again, and Seoho means to stand up, but Dongju just yanks him right back onto the floor. “You wanna see him or not?” 

“There’s more to life than cute boys,” Seoho wheezes, as Dongju pulls at his hoodie, demanding and pushy. 

“Cute boys aren’t the solution to everything,” Hwanwoong says, “but they sure make it easier to keep your eyes open in life, don’t you think?” 

“Shouldn’t you only be keeping eyes on your beloved Dongju?” Seoho asks, before he adds, “Actually, even then, I don’t think it’s helped you stay awake because you’re still falling asleep in all sorts of places—” 

“Geonhak likes exercising, collecting watches, and watching kids morning cartoons,” Dongju says, ignoring the squabble happening right over his head. “But he’s handsome and easily entertained, otherwise.” 

Seoho knows all of those things already, save for the part about the cartoons. _Cute_ , he thinks, because it explains the childlike sparkle of wonder in Geonhak’s eyes whenever he sees bushes trimmed into animal shapes or Seoho understands a reference he makes to Sesame Street, and then Seoho’s shaking the hair out of his eyes because he’s not supposed to find any part of Geonhak endearing at all. 

“Sounds like a treasure,” Seoho says dryly, and Dongju shoots him a miffed look. At least he’s not suspicious, because Seoho is not a good liar even on the best of days, and especially not when he can sense a losing battle on his end. 

“Although…” Dongju’s voice goes a bit sing-song, distinctly recognizable as his _up-to-no-good_ tone of voice, and Seoho has to hold back a flinch. “Geonhak has been in higher spirits these days. He giggles at his phone all the time and won’t tell me who he’s talking to.”

“Really?” Hwanwoong says, while Seoho’s heart stutters at the reveal of information. “Damn. It might be too late after all to find your true love, Seoho.” 

“Shame,” Seoho says, mostly back to normal as he prepares more snark, shoving any residual nerves down in favor of leveling a roguish grin at Hwanwoong, who gives him an unimpressed look. “I was so looking forward to feeling butterflies in my stomach and being kissed under the moonlight and becoming insufferable in front of all my friends.” 

“Sometimes I wonder why you’re single, and then you say shit like this, and I don’t wonder at all,” Hwanwoong says. He claws at the back of Seoho’s hoodie and grabs a fistful of fabric, a precursor to whatever he’s about to request. Seoho is starting to think he lives with two small animals and not just a boy and his constantly visiting boyfriend. “Dry my hair for me.” 

“Isn’t that what Dongju’s here for? To keep your eyes open and remind you the world’s beautiful, and all that,” Seoho asks. He shoves Hwanwoong away before Hwanwoong resorts to aegyo that’s more agonizing for his audience than it is for himself. 

“Woe is me,” Hwanwoong whines. “My boyfriend is busy working on a puzzle and my usually warm-hearted housemate is being cruel—”

With a long suffering sigh, Seoho gets up to retrieve Hwanwoong’s purple hair dryer because he doesn’t want Hwanwoong fake-pouting at him all through dinner in the way he thinks Seoho can’t tell is laced with the tiniest amount of real disappointment. 

✧

Seoho decides to ask about it the next time he’s over at Geonhak’s place. 

“Heard you’ve been in a better mood lately,” Seoho says. He supposes it’s not very nice of him to bring the topic up now, when he’s got the waistband of Geonhak’s jockstrap wrapped around his fingers as he fucks Geonhak from behind. Geonhak can barely get a word out without whimpering, he’s so wound up, and the way his muscles shift in his back as he struggles to support himself comfortably on the bathroom counter with his palms is nothing short of stunning. “Hm?” 

Seoho slows his pace until he’s barely moving at all, and drops his head to kiss the back of Geonhak’s neck and shoulder, pleased to see that Geonhak’s fingertips are turning yellow-white from how hard he’s clutching at the counter. 

Geonhak releases a tense sigh, pushing back against Seoho as if demanding Seoho start moving again, but he doesn’t repeat the movement, doesn’t take charge to give himself the tantalizing drag and rough slide he wants so badly. That’s one of the things that Seoho likes so much about him: how whiny and grumpy Geonhak gets when Seoho doesn’t give him what he wants, yet he never quite tries to swipe control from underneath Seoho’s nose. Seoho wouldn’t mind Geonhak being more selfish, but maybe it’s that Geonhak understands how Seoho works as a person and so he lets Seoho tease him because he knows Seoho will eventually indulge him, sweet as can be. 

“Answer me,” Seoho says. 

“You didn’t ask me a question,” Geonhak says, with a harsh exhale as Seoho gives a particularly hard thrust without any warning. Geonhak’s leaking into the basin of the sink, dribbling a convenient mess that won’t have to be cleaned up later with tissues or showered away, and he whines loud and deep when Seoho gently thumbs at the head of his cock. “Seoho, please—” 

“Why have you been in a better mood?” Seoho asks, pulling at the jockstrap with his other hand, and Geonhak lets out a rough, broken gasp. “Hmm?” 

“I don’t…” Geonhak says, trailing off as he gets distracted, but then he quickly redirects his attention to speaking again when Seoho bites at his ear. “Ah, I don’t think I’ve been in a better mood, more than usual?” 

“No hot dates?” Seoho asks. “What about your classes?” 

Geonhak shakes his head. “I’ve only been seeing you, so—” 

At the words, something darker coils at the bottom of Seoho’s stomach, possessive and unforgiving, but Seoho reminds himself not to give in. 

“Maybe it’s that you’ve been relieving your stress more often,” he says, with a laugh that he hopes doesn’t betray the childish relief he’s feeling. He slides fingers with unconcealed interest down the center of Geonhak’s back, arched delightfully tight as if someone’s pulling at his neck and tailbone with a steel string. “You don’t look _less_ stressed right now, though.” 

“I swear to fucking god,” Geonhak growls out, “if you don’t just _fuck_ me—” he lets out a shaky sob when Seoho pulls out, ever so slightly, the rest of his threat dying in the back of his throat as Seoho’s teasing commands all of his focus. “Seoho, why do you always _do_ this—” 

“You’re cuter when you’re desperate,” Seoho says, and Geonhak’s hips jerk, so Seoho steadies them with comforting strokes of his palm down Geonhak’s side. “Have you seen yourself when you’re this wrecked? Why would I give you satisfaction immediately when this is the best part?” 

“So twisted,” Geonhak says venomously, but Seoho thinks it says a lot more about Geonhak, that he’s acting disgruntled and yet he’s keeping perfectly still, waiting for Seoho to lead.

Geonhak is understandably embarrassed when Seoho loops an arm around him, hand settling at Geonhak’s chest and pulling him up so that his torso straightens out. This way he can watch himself get fucked by Seoho instead of avoiding it by looking everywhere else except their reflections, and Seoho delights in the way Geonhak whines at being maneuvered into an even more humiliating position, yet both of them know Seoho won’t ever do or say anything to actually hurt his pride. 

“You hate it?” Seoho asks. With a feather light touch, he uses his thumb and index and middle fingers to tilt Geonhak’s face towards the mirror so that he’s looking into it straight on and they can make eye contact through their reflections. Geonhak lets him do it without any resistance, and he’s breathing shallowly as he gives Seoho a mildly resentful look. “You’re so handsome like this, though?” 

“Shut up.” Geonhak flushes pink at the compliment, pinker than he already is, and it’s cute how his chest blushes along with his cheeks and the tips of his ears. There’s so _much_ of him that Seoho always has trouble deciding where to look, because every part of Geonhak’s body is wonderfully honest compared to his defiant mouth, and Seoho can only focus for a certain amount of time before he’s losing himself to the way Geonhak feels around him, always drawing him in deeper until Seoho can’t think about anything else. 

Geonhak is slightly wider in build than Seoho, broad neck and thick arms filling up most of Seoho’s view if he just looks straight out in front of him. When Seoho does eventually lift his gaze, lazily looks in the dimly lit mirror and sees his own dark eyes above the rim of his glasses, right behind a shaking, disheveled Geonhak, he’s struck by an odd feeling of satisfaction. 

_Mine, all mine,_ he barely holds back from saying out loud, because he’s not allowed to want to _keep_ this, not allowed to want to monopolize Geonhak when he’s so afraid, still, to let himself be happy without some sort of smug leverage behind it. He presses his lips to Geonhak’s neck instead, closing his eyes to calm himself, and Geonhak makes a confused noise that quickly turns into a higher pitched, breathy one when Seoho scrapes his teeth across delicate skin. 

Seoho means to drop his hand back to Geonhak’s waist to fuck him better, but Geonhak catches Seoho’s palm with his own, keeping both of their hands on his chest. “Hold me like this,” he explains, when Seoho hums in his ear, asking a nonverbal question. “While you—”

“Don’t want me to jerk you off?” 

Geonhak shivers. “I could probably come like this, so it’s okay if you just…” he bites back a moan as Seoho happily sinks his teeth into the thickest part of muscle between Geonhak’s neck and shoulder. “Fuck!” 

When Geonhak comes, untouched, and makes a mess all over the mirror, it’s to soft murmurs of encouragement from Seoho who kisses Geonhak through the waves of pleasure that have Geonhak’s body stilling, for a moment, before he’s shaking hard enough to lose strength in his legs and forcing Seoho to use both arms to catch Geonhak from slipping out of his grip. 

“You good?” Seoho asks, breathily, and Geonhak whimpers out some noise that’s probably meant to be reassuring but just makes Seoho laugh from how wrecked Geonhak sounds. “You did well, Blondie.” 

“You didn’t come yet, right?” Geonhak asks. He reaches back with his hand to squeeze at Seoho’s ass, and this time, Seoho is the one whose hips jerk. “Do you want to...on my stomach?” 

“You’re going to fall over, dumbass,” Seoho says. “So kinky.” 

“You made me like this,” Geonhak says, matter of factly, and Seoho doesn’t know why that particular statement, out of everything they’ve done today, is the thing that makes his whole face heat up. Geonhak laughs when he looks up into the mirror to figure out why Seoho isn’t responding and sees Seoho’s reddened cheeks. “Why are you embarrassed?! You’re the one who made us fuck in front of a mirror—” 

“I didn’t make you,” Seoho points out. “I asked politely and you agreed.” 

“Because you don't usually ask for anything, you just let me do whatever,” Geonhak says. “I wanted to satisfy you, too.” He pauses, and snorts. “Why are you turning even redder?” 

Seoho drops his head into Geonhak’s shoulder, laughing. He pulls out of Geonhak and then makes him turn around, hoisting Geonhak up by the thighs so that Geonhak can sit with ease on the counter. Geonhak wraps his legs around Seoho’s waist, pulling him close before Seoho rolls the condom off and thrusts up into his own hand erratically. Only a few seconds pass before the familiar coil at the pit of his stomach is tightening, and then Seoho is spilling onto Geonhak’s stomach and chest, come pooling in Geonhak’s navel and a small amount spurting high enough to reach his collarbone before it starts sliding down his chest. 

Geonhak mumbles something that sounds suspiciously close to _perfect_ as he half licks, half kisses the center of Seoho’s forehead, and Seoho gasps at the wetness, along with the slight pinch of Geonhak’s fingers kneading at his sides. 

Geonhak is so obedient, so well behaved in ways Seoho never even expected from him, and that’s why Seoho is willing to be at his beck and call even though he’s defiant to practically everyone else. Games are more dangerous when you lose sight of the original rules, though, and Seoho keeps having to remind himself that he wouldn’t miss this at all if it suddenly stopped, that this ongoing _thing_ between him and Geonhak only started because Geonhak promised it wouldn’t be complicated. 

“Sleep over,” Geonhak says, later, when they’re both cleaned up and he senses Seoho hesitating on whether to get dressed. Seoho’s clothes aren’t that dirty, but he’s tired of wearing skinny jeans and his favorite sleep shorts are at home. “You can borrow something from my closet.” 

“What makes you think I want to spend any more time with you?” Seoho asks, but Geonhak makes such a pitiful expression that he immediately retracts the attitude. “Ugh. Don’t do that.” 

Geonhak’s kicked puppy look only intensifies. “Don’t do what?” 

Seoho doesn’t elaborate, just leans over to pat Geonhak's calf. “Do you have any soft t-shirts? And shorts.”

“Yeah,” Geonhak says, climbing out of the bed. “Give me a second. I’ll find some for you to choose from.” 

“I should probably go home,” Seoho murmurs absentmindedly to himself as he watches Geonhak rummage through his closet. 

“What’s wrong?” Geonhak asks, turning to glance at Seoho. He sounds so forlorn, again, and Seoho hadn’t realized Geonhak was listening that closely. It surprises him. 

“Nothing’s wrong.” Seoho shrugs. “I just have work that I should probably catch up on, and—”

“Catch up on it tomorrow.” Geonhak has a bundle of clothes in his arms that he carries over to the bed before dumping them. He pulls a white fitted t-shirt for himself, shoving his hands through the sleeves before putting his head through the collar. “Bring your work over next time so you can work on it wherever.” 

“No,” Seoho says. “I’m not going to get any of it done so why bother?” 

“Well, I’m calmer when you’re around,” Geonhak says. “You could try and see if it’s mutual.” 

“Probably not,” Seoho says. “You’re rough and noisy and too _warm—_ ” Geonhak chooses that moment to hand Seoho an oversized, black tee considerably looser than what he’s wearing, and then seems to think better of the idea, stepping closer to Seoho. 

“I’m not noisy,” Geonhak says quietly. His voice goes muffled when he gently tugs the shirt over Seoho’s head, and Seoho fixes his hair as soon as the shirt collar is settled at his neck. In between all of this and Geonhak pulling the hem of the shirt past Seoho’s stomach, however, Geonhak takes the opportunity to run his fingers along the dunes of Seoho’s rib cage, the side that has the large, all black inky snake tattoo, and when he speaks again it’s with velvet clarity. “This is just how my voice sounds.” 

“I don’t mean there’s anything wrong with your voice,” Seoho says, and Geonhak is smiling at him in a hopeful sort of way that makes Seoho want to smack him, or something, but he just brushes it off. “You’d be a nuisance no matter the type of voice you have.”

“Don’t say it like that.” Geonhak’s so touchy, shameless even in the moments that Seoho tells him to take his hands off, and right now is no exception. After a bit of roaming, his hands have settled at the small of Seoho’s back, and it makes Seoho want to squirm out of his grip because he doesn’t know why Geonhak is staring at him as if Seoho will disappear as soon as he takes his eyes off of him. Seoho has never been the one who leaves people behind. “You’re staying, right?” 

“Didn’t you shove your shirt over my head?” Seoho asks. “Would I go to the trouble of taking your clothes and then leave?” 

“I won’t force you to stay if you really need to get going,” Geonhak says. “And besides, what if you just wanted to wear my clothes?” 

“A disgusting hypothetical to even entertain,” Seoho says. “I’ll stay. Your place is nice. So is the view from your window.” 

“ _I’m_ also nice,” Geonhak adds unhelpfully, and Seoho laughs. 

“Sure you are,” Seoho says. “But only after I’ve fucked the attitude out of you.” 

“Is that all I am to you?” Geonhak asks, and Seoho lets out a cackle as he gets tossed into the sheets, vision quickly filled with an irritated Geonhak crawling over him. Eyes bright and hands on the offensive, Geonhak aims for the soft, sensitive skin in between Seoho’s chest and his underarms, and Seoho does his best to fight him off, laughing near hysterically all the while. 

Geonhak hardly ever uses his full strength for anything, mindful of how intimidating it can be even when he’s joking around or play-fighting, and that’s probably why Seoho is still laughing even after he’s gotten pinned underneath Geonhak, because he know Geonhak won’t do much else beyond get in Seoho’s face and tell him to _take it back—_

“I just realized,” Geonhak says, when he’s released Seoho from his chokehold and Seoho is lying on his back, scrolling through his phone, “that you don’t leave marks.” 

“What?” 

“On my neck,” Geonhak explains. Curious fingertips skim along the side and back of Seoho’s neck, and from the spots they’re pausing at, Seoho knows where Geonhak has been particularly brutal with his skin. “You never leave marks there. You leave them in other places, but...” 

“I have manners,” Seoho replies, sitting up. “Unlike a puppy who uses me as a chewing toy.” 

“Sorry,” Geonhak says. He hooks his chin over Seoho’s shoulder, hands snaking around Seoho’s waist and pulling Seoho into his lap so he can trap Seoho in a backhug. Seoho’s stomach clenches as he fights the urge to bolt, but he doesn’t bother pushing Geonhak off because Geonhak will just cling to him again at some other point in the evening. 

“You don’t _sound_ sorry.” 

“I think you wouldn’t be very happy if I said I knew what I was doing,” Geonhak mumbles, and Seoho’s mouth drops open. Geonhak’s voice is comically louder when he adds, “So it’s definitely an accident, okay?” 

“You—” 

“Don’t be mad,” Geonhak pleads. He wraps his arms tighter around Seoho so that Seoho can’t turn around to hit him, laughing into the thin material of the shirt he’s let Seoho borrow. “I wouldn’t mind if you made marks on me that were easily visible. We can trade.” 

Seoho knows that without Geonhak having to tell him, judging by the pictures Geonhak clearly takes for personal indulgence and shows Seoho only if he feels like catching Seoho off guard. 

“That’s not the problem, is it?” Seoho says. “Are you going to knock it off then?” 

“Do I…” Geonhak pauses as if he’s contemplating, and Seoho wants to hit him again. “Do I have to?” 

“You don’t have to,” Seoho says. “I could just stop sleeping with you. Problem solved.” Geonhak’s breath hitches, and Seoho doesn’t know whether it’s just a coincidence, but maybe Geonhak hasn’t known Seoho long enough or else he would know Seoho’s threats are almost always empty. 

Then Geonhak is leaning into him as he says, “But our physical compatibility is good, right?” 

“Is it?” 

“Should I record what you sound like the next time I eat you out?” Geonhak asks, mildly, and Seoho pinches Geonhak on the thigh in retaliation, staying silent out of spite even as Geonhak makes a pitiful whine at the pain. 

“You’re pushing it,” Seoho tells him, eventually giving in and rubbing at the red spot in apology. He had nothing to worry about, after all. 

✧

Seoho knows better than to let bad habits form. 

_Knowing_ is entirely different from _doing,_ however, and while Seoho’s long stopped looking for trouble every way he can get it in the hopes of filling the emptiness that’s never really left his chest, he has a harder time following through on his initial resolve to eventually say no to Geonhak. 

It doesn’t help, either, that Geonhak has never once _felt_ like a bad habit, and he’s never tasted like the sort of mistake that’s going to blow up in Seoho’s face.

Which is why, Seoho supposes, he should be wary of how easy it is for him to end up back in Geonhak’s sheets again and again, enough times to anticipate exactly just how Geonhak crawls over him and kisses Seoho hard enough that Seoho forgets about everything else in his life that irritates him, including the fact that he’s growing fond of someone he shouldn’t have given a second glance to in the aftermath of a rash decision. 

Geonhak is as selfish as he is generous, but he doesn’t talk around what he wants from Seoho or what he wants to do _for_ Seoho, never disguises his intentions as something more sophisticated than what they are at the core. He doesn’t tell Seoho what to do or how to do it, just quietly asks and waits with a hopeful look on his face until Seoho decides whether or when he wants to give in. 

Seoho is used to wanting to shove weight off of him, even more used to subconsciously maneuvering people so that they’re not tempted to kiss him in the heat of the moment. Hates the sensation of sweat and sticky skin pressing against his own as soon as he’s found release, because human touch feels like metal prison bars he can’t squeeze out from between the longer he lets it linger on him. 

And yet Geonhak always manages to coax Seoho into positions he likes, ones where he can press his lips on Seoho’s mouth, neck, jaw, temples. Leaves red marks behind on soft skin as a reminder of the territories on Seoho’s body he’s claimed as his, sinks down on Seoho repeatedly until both of them are spent and gasping, splays his palms down the dip of Seoho’s shoulders and then across Seoho’s chest as if he’s trying to commit to memory the way Seoho feels against him through his fingertips. 

He’s insatiable for anything and everything Seoho will give him, and underneath the weight of such gentle, earnest warmth, Seoho keeps forgetting why that’s so dangerous. 

✧

Sometimes, there are nightmares. 

Seoho wakes up one night to his whole body having turned into ice, cold and sweaty and separate from himself, and there’s a wave of nausea ringing through the back of his skull as he sits up and tries to get a hold of his surroundings. He’s not sure how loud he is or whether he makes any noise at all, because all he wants to do is catch his breath and fight off the heaviness trying to escape his lungs. 

Next to him, Geonhak stirs. Usually Geonhak is a heavy sleeper, spreading his limbs out and shifting constantly throughout the night while Seoho curls in on himself, but he’s currently conscious enough to roll over and slide his arm around Seoho’s waist. 

His voice is thick with both concern and sleep. Rough at the edges, and soft, sticky in the way his consonants blend right in with his vowels. “Seoho. What’s wrong?” 

“Sorry,” Seoho says. His voice comes out in a whisper, shaky and nervous, and he hopes Geonhak chalks it up to Seoho trying to talk with a sleep-dry throat. “Go back to sleep.” 

“You sound scared,” Geonhak mumbles, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand. “Did you have a nightmare?” 

Seoho figures that just this once it wouldn’t hurt to be honest. “Yes.” His lips are starting to get chapped, and he wants to put on lip balm, but Geonhak is warm. “It wasn’t too bad, but…” 

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Geonhak says. He sits up, and Seoho’s entire right side is smothered in even more warmth as Geonhak leans into him, patting at Seoho’s back in a slow, steady pattern. “You’re safe.” 

The corners of Seoho’s eyes start to burn.

People are predictable. They’re overwhelmed when confronted with a crack in someone’s facade, and Seoho knows not to show too many broken, darker slivers of himself in case it leaves people at a loss for what to do. 

And then there’s Geonhak. Sleepy, confused, disoriented. He doesn’t even know what haunts Seoho in his sleep, what has woken Seoho up, and he’s somehow managed to make Seoho feel completely at ease with two simple words and a warm hand rubbing at Seoho’s back. It’s the sort of understanding Seoho hasn’t let himself want for a long, long time, because he’s conditioned himself into avoiding comfort by habit so that he never has to acknowledge the things that hurt him most. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Geonhak asks, and he hums thoughtfully when Seoho shakes his head. “I guess it’s a pointless question.” 

“No,” Seoho says. “It’s okay.” 

“Wanna go back to sleep?” Geonhak asks. His words are slurring, and it’s endearing, how he’d made sure to sound more awake until he realized Seoho didn’t need to talk out his feelings. Geonhak is always trying his best, is almost stupidly earnest when other people don’t even think to care that much. 

“You can,” Seoho says. “I think I’m going to go drink some water.” 

“Mmm.” Geonhak sounds half asleep, already, and Seoho chuckles as he steps out of the bed, wincing when the soles of his feet hit the cold floor, but he quickly gets used to the temperature as he heads for Geonhak’s kitchen. 

Everything is dark, understandably, before he finds the light switch and drowns his surroundings in abrupt brightness. Seoho recalls being afraid of the dark even in his childhood home, imagination so creative that the possibilities seemed endless as to what could lay in the inky shadows. Those sort of fears had gradually disappeared as he grew older, replaced by worries and doubts and simpler, deeper terrors that lingered even when the sun was out and shining. 

He’s surprised to find Geonhak still somewhat cognizant after he slips back into bed, eyes half lidded but alert and nose twitching curiously out of habit. “Took you a while.” 

“You looked ready to knock out before I even left the room,” Seoho says. “What happened?” 

“I was waiting for you to come back.” Geonhak pulls Seoho close when Seoho crawls under the covers, so that his chest is molded to the curve of Seoho’s back. “It’s cold.” 

“Pretty sure you’re a furnace with your body heat alone,” Seoho says. “How are you cold?” 

“Right?” Geonhak mumbles, like he doesn’t think it makes sense either. He’s becoming progressively quieter, probably falling asleep for real now that he’s sure Seoho is tucked safely under the covers with him. “You’re like. Emotionally warm? Makes it easier to sleep.” 

“What?” Seoho laughs. “You fall asleep at the drop of a hat.” 

“I know,” Geonhak replies. “But the days you stay over, I wake up feeling better.” 

“Probably because I’m pretty,” Seoho jokes, expecting Geonhak to nudge or kick or smack him, but Geonhak just buries his nose into Seoho’s hair, exhaling softly. 

“Yeah, probably,” he agrees, and Seoho…

Seoho is left to swallow back panic at feelings he’s not supposed to have, directed at people he’s not allowed to want, while Geonhak begins to snore beside him, unaware of how tight a hold he already has on Seoho’s heart. 

✧

Unsettling as they are, the contents of Seoho’s dreams don’t usually follow him into his waking hours. The silhouette of events etched on the backs of his eyelids are more a reflection of lingering fears and expired wants playing house in a home long abandoned, and he’s free of them as soon as he opens his eyes and takes his first conscious breath.

At least, that’s what he likes to think. 

So when an eerily familiar, soft but years-absent voice calls out to him in the middle of a bookstore downtown, he has to wonder if he’s still dreaming and whether he’d ever stepped out of bed. 

“Seoho?” 

Careful and unassuming eyes have landed on him, their lashes curled delicately and gray contact lenses creating cloudy day mist in front of irises that were originally dark brown. A hand nervously clutches at a cream colored, cable knit bag, stiletto nails flawless despite the insistent way they tap at the silver hardware. 

It’s a divergence that blindsides him, forcing Seoho to step back in time against his will. 

“Bora,” Seoho says back, and she gives him a tentative smile. Tension eases out of her shoulders, softening the slope to something more curved, diagonal. She must have expected a colder reaction from him, having drifted apart for so long, but they were close friends at one point and Seoho is not vicious _,_ never would be towards her. 

Still, Seoho feels a little like a deer caught in the headlights, leaning into Geonhak’s shoulder, where he’s been watching Geonhak flip through a _Calvin and Hobbes_ collection of comics and pointing out every funny expression as a portrait of Geonhak just to watch Geonhak refrain from yelling at him and ruining the quiet atmosphere of the shop. 

“Is now an okay time to chat?” she asks, looking meaningfully between him and Geonhak. “Am I interrupting? I don’t mind if—” 

“No, you’re fine, I can talk for a bit,” Seoho says. He squeezes at Geonhak’s arm, a wordless question, and Geonhak answers by patting Seoho’s hip, leans over to check Seoho’s facial expression and ends up nuzzling his hair in the process. 

Seoho and Bora don’t stray far, settling in a nearby corner with various knick knacks laid out on a wooden table and vertical metal displays surrounding it, where there’s less traffic to worry about. 

It strikes Seoho, as he aimlessly scans the divided sections of book spines between _Art History_ and _Employee Picks,_ that he probably wouldn’t have minded the conversation taking place where Geonhak could hear them, maybe even prefers it. He just doesn’t want Geonhak to feel like an outsider, playing a word game of catch without the proper context to connect the dots. 

“I always wanted to talk to you after the…” _accident_ , Bora means, and Seoho nods in acknowledgement, so she doesn’t force herself to say it out loud. It’s not necessary. “Everyone wanted to, but it was hard to get in touch because...” she pauses again. “Well, you know how June is, after all.” 

“Yes, I do know how he is,” Seoho says, lightly. He’d been the closest to June, and then the first one June left behind, without anything beyond a cold, soulless text and legal paperwork that had taken care of all the financial costs of his injuries in exchange for his silence. Seoho had tasted acid in his mouth for months, dry heaving every time he’d seen a remotely similar car on the road until the lack of closure finally faded into nothing at all. 

The name alone draws memories of cigarette smoke, and ebony burnt barbecue, and a foul mouth Seoho barely remembers kissing because he doesn’t miss it for one second. 

It’s probably a blessing that everything happened the way it did. Seoho was just foolish for having dipped his toes into undisguised danger and hoping it would bring him something as ridiculous as fulfillment, or a sense of belonging. 

The curve of Bora’s lips has always been pretty, but it’s apologetic now, too. Her lipstick is a satin, muted red, and it reminds Seoho of the fresh raspberries they offer in the summer to top frozen yogurt with. “How have you been, Seoho?” 

“Okay,” Seoho replies. “Healthier, probably.” He’s quit smoking for over a year, and his current schedule consists of working, studying, and _Geonhak_ , who makes Seoho do all sorts of awful, unsexy things like morning hikes so they can watch the sunrise and get breakfast after. “No more reckless midnight racing, for sure.” 

The words come out easier than he expects, and his lungs only tighten a little with discomfort. He’s not surprised, considering it was never the actual circumstances surrounding the accident that had the most permanence in their damage. 

“That’s probably for the best,” Bora says. “I think we’ve all been better off since the group disassembled. A couple guys are still out there racing though.” 

“The worst case scenario is always someone else’s fuckup until it happens to you,” Seoho says, shoving his hands in his jean pockets. The rings on his fingers make it a snug fit, and only now does he realize he’s accidentally worn one of Geonhak’s rings. “Can’t blame them.” He chews on his lip before glancing back up at her. “You’ve been okay?” 

“Yeah,” Bora says. She nudges Seoho in the shoulder, laughing when Seoho arches an eyebrow at her, and belatedly gestures towards Geonhak. “You two are cute together.” 

“Oh,” Seoho says, blinking rapidly as an explanation fails to buffer in the back of his throat. He can’t help looking at Geonhak, like maybe that’ll help him understand whatever Bora’s seeing, but all he gets is a puzzled Geonhak tilting his head cutely back at him, puppy ears practically visible on top of his blonde hair. “That’s not—” 

“That’s not how things are?” Bora guesses, and when he looks back at her, she’s flashing perfect white teeth as she smiles knowingly at him. Some things haven’t changed about him, Seoho supposes, or maybe it’s just that his speech patterns have always been avoidant in nature. “He seems smitten. You should reconsider if you’re not already dating.” 

This is terrible. Seoho feels stripped down, even with his collared shirt and crewneck and leather jacket keeping him toasty warm in the excessive heating of the bookstore. “Well, it was _great_ talking to you, Bora—” 

His obvious attempt to escape the conversation makes Bora laugh again, squeakier and less polite this time. She unclasps the buckle of her bag, taking out her phone and flipping the screen to show Seoho her lockscreen: a selfie with her and another girl, their cheeks pressed together and the girl’s hand around Bora’s waist. Bora’s smile is wide here, and brighter than any smile Seoho ever remembers seeing on her before. 

“Your…?” 

“My girlfriend,” Bora answers. “Seungyeon. We should go on a double date. You can bring your not-boyfriend, and we can chat more.” 

“Cute,” Seoho says, before he smirks. “But you’re not serious, right? I don’t know if I can survive something that strenuous—” 

Bora rolls her eyes to the side, not bothering to take offense. “My number’s the same if you ever want to get coffee and catch up or anything, _asshole._ ”

“You’re so sweet to me,” Seoho says, grinning lazily at her. He never deleted any contacts besides June, so her information is most likely intact in his phone, and he makes a mental note to follow up with her later when he finds some free time. 

“I hope your friend’s sweeter to you,” Bora replies, equally syrupy as she puts her phone back in her purse. 

“I don’t have time to date, Bora,” Seoho says. “I think we’re all old enough to respect each other’s decisions, no? Especially when I tend to attract volatile types!” 

“But you have time to go out with cute boys who only giggle at you and don’t fight back?” 

“He fights back plenty,” Seoho says. “If he didn’t, that wouldn’t be any fun, would it?” 

“Evil as usual,” Bora says. “Sounds like a perfect match for you.” She squares her shoulders, shifting her weight. “I should let you get back to him. I’ve gotta dip and pick out a couple gifts, but it was really nice running into you.” 

“Likewise,” Seoho says. Bora waves at him cheerfully before disappearing into another section of the bookstore. 

“An old girlfriend?” Geonhak murmurs when Seoho approaches him. He’s on the same page of the comic book as he was before, but Seoho doesn’t comment on it. “She’s pretty.” 

“Bora’s got a girlfriend, puppy,” Seoho teases, even though the way Geonhak says it isn’t anything like how the other boys used to talk about girls in the locker rooms back in high school. He states it more like a fact, more like something that might...bother him instead of garner his approval. “Don’t even think about it.” 

“I wasn’t,” Geonhak replies, immediately looking all too pleased despite having just been told the human equivalent of _heel_. “So Bora’s just a friend?” 

“Just a friend,” Seoho agrees, and he wonders if it’s supposed to mean something when Geonhak squeezes at his hand, not letting go. 

“You’ve never mentioned her,” Geonhak says. 

“She was from…” _my before_ , sounds like a terrible way to put it. Seoho is lacking all sorts of words these days. “It’s not something that came up in conversation, Geonhak. The friend group we were in started growing apart.” 

“The same time you quit being a dancer?” Geonhak says. 

“Yes,” Seoho says. He doesn’t realize he’s trembling, ever so slightly, until Geonhak carefully puts the comic book back into its spot on the shelf and grabs both of Seoho’s hands, blanketing them with the heat from his own. It’s so comforting that Seoho doesn’t even think of pulling away from the warmth, forgets to care that they’re in public right now. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Seoho says, and it’s obvious that Geonhak doesn’t believe him, but he seems content to let the question slide without receiving a real answer. “Let’s go upstairs where they have all the toys that light up and make lots of noise. We should start up every single one and see if the kids freak out. Or better yet, their parents.” 

“You shouldn’t be scaring kids like that,” Geonhak says, sighing, but he doesn’t stop Seoho either when Seoho pulls him further into the store, towards the mahogany staircase that will lead them to the second floor.

✧

Geonhak’s kissing down the center line of Seoho’s stomach, a mere fraction of all the chaste exploring he’s done with his mouth today. He never quite lets up with the fixation over Seoho’s abs, tends to alternate between sucking marks into firm, lean muscle or memorizing the topography of muscle definition through a hot palm sliding over Seoho’s stomach. 

Right now, Seoho feels like he’s at the bottom of a lake, or an ocean. Weightless even as he sinks, maybe lost to some vast unknown because he’s at the mercy of Geonhak’s aimless focus on his body. It takes him a few seconds before he realizes Geonhak’s speaking. 

“Can I ask you something?” Geonhak asks, and Seoho slowly opens his eyes. 

Geonhak had cleaned Seoho’s glasses earlier because he knows how much Seoho hates the lenses getting smudged, and then he’d perched them carefully back on Seoho’s face, making sure not to hit any of Seoho’s piercings and brushing stray hairs out of the way so that they weren’t caught in the temples of the frames. 

Geonhak’s staring up at him through his lashes, delicate and thoughtful, gold flecks scattered through his amber irises in the fading hue of evening sunlight. It makes Seoho ache with something terrible because he’s realizing he could truly spend every weekend like this, pliant underneath or on top of Geonhak, and be perfectly content for the rest of his life. 

He figures Geonhak is curious now that he’s gotten a glimpse of Seoho’s past through their chance meeting with Bora, and he inhales at the thought of having to revisit those memories, even if only momentarily. Geonhak isn’t pushy in a way that leaves Seoho irritable, but he’s quietly persistent when he thinks something’s important for him to know. “What is it?” 

“Why did you have to quit dance?” Geonhak asks. “If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand—” 

“Oh,” Seoho says. “Did you not…” _hear the rumors?_

“I’ve heard things here and there,” Geonhak says, answering the question he must see in Seoho’s expression. “But none of those sources were you. I didn’t want to build a false understanding of you from other people.” 

“How idealistic of you,” Seoho remarks. Geonhak’s exhales against his stomach feel like butterfly wings fluttering against his skin. It’s ticklish, but it reminds Seoho to breathe, too. “What makes you think I’m not the most unreliable source out of all of them?” 

“You have a lot of flaws,” Geonhak says, and Seoho sputters, not expecting the bluntness because their positions are usually reversed, “but none of them include being unreliable.” 

“There’s not much to say,” Seoho replies. “A dancer with a promising future got caught in the wrong crowd and ended up with an injury from a car accident that cut his career short.” 

Talking about it in the third person makes it easier, makes Seoho feel as if he’s talking about a stranger, and not the way his own life had been altered forever by a few shitty decisions and a misguided attraction to danger in both people and pastimes. 

Geonhak hums quietly. Seoho expects...he doesn’t know what he expects, and maybe that’s the worst part of conversations like this, waiting for an unknown that wouldn’t be an issue if he were doing his usual thing and not searching for it at all. 

“Is that what the scar on your knee is from?” Geonhak asks, eventually. 

“Yes,” Seoho says. He has to hold back a shiver when Geonhak swipes his thumb across the scar, gently. It’s probably the phantom pain that makes the skin there so sensitive, or maybe the long boxed in feelings Seoho’s ignored in favor of moving on with his life and pretending he never wanted anything tangible in the first place. 

“I see,” Geonhak says. 

He doesn’t ask Seoho anything else difficult for the rest of the night, just resumes placing kisses up Seoho’s chest and neck until they’re eye to eye again, their faces close enough for him to suck Seoho’s lower lip into his mouth and articulate reassurances loud and clear even if he doesn’t use any words. 

✧

Seoho decides things have gotten significantly worse, when Youngjo fixes him with one of those gazes that’s spilling over with equal parts fondness and concern and _curiosity_ during a shift at Cider Moon. 

“You didn’t tell me you have a boyfriend,” Youngjo says. 

He’s not by any means loud, but Seoho winces anyway, because Yonghoon is wiping one of the tables near them and his hearing is impeccable. “Seoho has a boyfriend?” Yonghoon echoes. 

“I don’t,” Seoho says immediately, grateful that Harin isn’t here yet to magnify the situation further. Yonghoon blows his hair out of his eyes, obviously disappointed. “Youngjo’s mistaken.” 

Youngjo crosses his arms. His lips are puckered thoughtfully, and Seoho knows it means that Youngjo’s in the rare mood to pry. Lucky Seoho. Youngjo’s merciful enough that he waits for Yonghoon to walk out of hearing range before he asks, “So is Blondie just a friend?” 

“What?” The knee-jerk reaction to reach for his phone happens too fast for Seoho to stop himself, and Youngjo wiggles his eyebrows when he sees Seoho’s hand fly to his back pocket. “What are you talking about.” 

“I should become a detective,” Youngjo says. “I am so good at making deductions.” 

“Did you—” Seoho frowns. Youngjo is curious, smug, but not _invasive._ Even so, Seoho doesn’t want to give himself away for no reason. “Tell me what you’re talking about.” 

“Geonhak, right?” Youngjo stretches out lazily across the counter, his thick arms and soft smile a sight to behold for any of the customers who come here specifically for him, but Seoho’s heart feels like it drops to his stomach. “That’s who you’ve been seeing. That’s the person you were worrying about.” 

“We’re just friends,” Seoho says. He figures that sooner or later, someone close to him would have spotted him hanging out with Geonhak, and the fact that it was Youngjo probably means Seoho is getting off easy. Youngjo is gullible because he wants to see the best in people, and lies that are good enough usually do the trick even if they’re not all that convincing. “I was worrying, but I figured it out.” 

If _figured it out_ means letting Geonhak take up more and more of his time while doggedly avoiding acknowledging the significance of it and the warmth that diffuses throughout his entire body whenever Geonhak so much as smiles at him, Seoho is doing a great job. Nailed it. Perfect score on emotional dodgeball. 

“You don’t usually go so long without mentioning new friends,” Youngjo says. “But I guess it has been a while since you made a friend that wasn’t through me or Hwanwoong, so maybe…” he tilts his head to stare mildly at Seoho’s face, as if searching for something. “He was hugging you and he had his hand on your chest, though, so I was surprised.” 

Seoho remembers exactly what moment Youngjo is talking about. He’d been holding a drink in his hands, hot organic milk tea that was overpriced but pleasantly _sweet,_ and he’d been wearing an oversized hoodie that made Geonhak more inclined to hug him every time he found something Seoho said hilarious since it meant no squeaky leather noises when he squeezed Seoho like a teddy bear. Geonhak had been giggling with his usual cloud-like laugh, and Seoho distinctly remembers looking at the happy, gentle curve of Geonhak’s eyes and thinking _oh fuck, I don’t want to feel like this—_

“All the people I attract are touchy,” Seoho says.

“That’s true,” Youngjo says. “Still, he looked very…” He laughs. “From what I heard about Geonhak, he doesn’t really warm up to people. It takes him a long time to get comfortable, so I thought…” 

“It must have been my teasing,” Seoho says. His heartbeat hammers away in his chest, and he wonders whether Youngjo can hear it because it’s all Seoho can focus on, the same way he sometimes thinks it’s as visible as neon to other people where Geonhak’s hands have left inky heat in their wake all over Seoho’s skin. “I think I annoy him to the point where he forgets all of his manners and shoves me around.” 

“Because you make us feel safe, and the fact that you let us touch you means you’re reciprocating our love,” Youngjo says. “It’s not like you really hate it anyways, right?” 

“Well,” Seoho says. Youngjo is smiling at him, and it’s disgusting. Seoho feels all warm in his chest, and it’s getting harder these days to pretend he’s ice cold. “No, I guess I don’t.” 

✧

Seoho has never been ice cold, not really. 

It’s the same with how Hwanwoong pretends to be fearless, because he’s afraid of too many things, and he needs to keep pretending otherwise so that he maybe one day forgets what it’s like to be anything other than effortlessly courageous. 

Seoho has to pretend, too, like he doesn’t chew on words and gestures and turn them inside out in his mind over and over again, wishing he could go back in time and right every wrong he’s ever made. 

Like he hadn’t reflected hundreds, thousands of times on how he broke his mother’s heart making the kind of decisions a younger Seoho would have found unbelievable, putting himself in danger just to feel something other than mediocre or dispensable. Like her shaky, pained inhale of realization at what he’d gotten himself into hadn’t replayed over and over again in his mind every night for months before he could properly fall asleep. 

Like he doesn’t melt down to nothing every time he finds Dongju asleep on the couch, limbs tucked into himself and whatever thick jacket he’s wearing because he’s cold and waiting for Hwanwoong to come home (or for Seoho to tease him and pull at his hood and call him names until Dongju’s riled up and toasty warm). 

It’s easier to act like he’s always been ice cold, because it makes Seoho take on cruelty with less guilt, and it helps all the things that have gone wrong for him make that much more sense, because Seoho can’t feel antagonized by anyone or anything if he antagonizes them first. 

“Maybe we should take a break,” Seoho finds himself saying to Geonhak, and he still can’t figure out whether he means it even after the words have come out. 

Geonhak’s reply is absentminded. “From this game?”

“No,” Seoho says, and he bites down on his lip hard, to distract him from the moment he pauses long enough for Geonhak’s face to go rigid with realization. “I mean, just being seen together in public.” 

“What?” Geonhak’s face shutters, and Seoho bites harder, placing his focus anywhere but whatever emotions are bleeding out of Geonhak. Geonhak’s feelings always show directly on his face, while Seoho hides the things and people he wants so that no one will pay attention if he doesn’t get them in the end. “Why?” 

“You wouldn’t want people to misunderstand, right?” Seoho says. 

He’s a washed up, burnt out ex-dancer who’s only ever cared about surviving and never about what he can do for other people, who doesn’t look at people for too long because he doesn’t have the patience or courage to see what they read in his face, and Geonhak…

Geonhak thinks there’s still a lot of good in the world, despite how ugly people’s hearts are, and he’s soft, and hopeful, and caring in all the ways Seoho hasn’t let himself be for anyone else in a long, long time. 

“Misunderstand…” Geonhak frowns. “So we can’t be friends in public, either?” The undertone of _you’re ashamed of me_ is thick enough in the air that it’s suffocating, and Seoho only fights the urge to deny it because he can’t back it up with any of the truths he’s clutching to his chest, meant for only him to know. 

“It’s not that,” Seoho says. 

“Then what…” Geonhak swallows, and Seoho watches the Adam’s apple of his throat bob up and down, “what do you mean?” 

_It’s because people can tell that one of us is in love with the other,_ Seoho bites back from spilling past his lips, _and it’s getting harder and harder to pretend my feelings aren’t growing out of my control._

He’s scared, of how much it shows that he wants to keep Geonhak around, and it’s only a matter of time before Geonhak figures it out. Seoho’s going to fuck up, somehow someway, and he’s going to be left alone again, and he doesn’t think he’s going to be able to handle the fallout of having so much of Geonhak to having none of him at all. 

“I just mean,” Seoho says, with as lighthearted a tone as he can manage, sliding his hand up Geonhak’s thigh, “that there are other more worthwhile ways to monopolize my time.” 

“That’s not a real answer,” Geonhak says. He catches Seoho’s hand, wraps his fingers around Seoho’s wrist, desperation weighing both of them down like an anchor and nothing like a burden. “Seoho—”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Seoho says, “so forgive me, okay?” and then he’s kissing at Geonhak’s neck so that he doesn’t have to see the hurt in Geonhak’s eyes, so that everything aches a little less when he feels Geonhak’s fingers tighten into fists around the material of his shirt. 

Geonhak doesn’t wake up when Seoho leaves, hours later. He’s a deep sleeper, guard-puppy instincts only jerking him awake when Seoho starts to sweat and whine in his unconsciousness from distress. 

Things would be simpler, if Seoho didn’t like him so much, didn’t feel all twisty and stupid inside his chest earlier when Geonhak asked to be held up and fucked against the wall and then in the same breath confessed he’s never afraid to ask for what he wants from Seoho because Seoho never makes him feel like he’s more or less because of it. 

_It doesn’t have to be complicated, right?_ mocks Seoho the whole trip down to where his Kawasaki is parked on the street, outside, because there’s nothing clear cut or simple about the way he’d had to force himself out of Geonhak’s apartment after he’d kissed Geonhak’s brow bone and Geonhak had made a confused, terrible whimpering noise in his sleep that nearly dismantled all of Seoho’s resolve to leave.

Even his t-shirt smells like Geonhak, Seoho realizes miserably, when he’s back home and back in his own, cold bed, because Geonhak sometimes likes to steal his clothes and hasn’t yet realized he doesn’t have to; he’s already got Seoho’s icy, unloving heart beating steady and loyal in the palms of his hands. 

✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you made it here, thank you! 
> 
> leave a comment b4 u head onto chapter 2? :D :3c :D


	2. Chapter 2

✧

“You look cute,” Hwanwoong says, when Seoho comes out of his room to drink water. He gives Seoho’s curly orange hair and oversized, direly in need of washing hoodie a casual once over that’s really not all that casual, before he reaches over to pat Seoho on the chest, feeling up muscle. 

It’s been a long week of work, assignments, presentations hastily thrown together. Seoho hasn’t pulled any all-nighters because his classwork is manageable even at its most grueling, but his bedroom floor is more clothes than visible hardwood, and he’s needed to dig his nails into his own forearms more times than he can count to avoid sleeping through lectures. 

His phone has been quiet, too. Seoho never minded before, but the silence feels louder and more jarring than it has in months. 

He rubs at his eyes, trying to blink away the lethargy and failing. Seoho is not awake enough for this. “What are you…” his voice isn’t light enough so he tries again. “What’s up. What do you want.” 

Hwanwoong laughs. “You’re so prickly. What if I’m just feeling nice?” 

Not replying immediately, Seoho just sips water from his mug. “You don’t compliment me unless you’re trying to hide something.” His necklaces are tangled again, and when he looks down, his knees look pale and goose-bumpy from where they’re peeking out underneath his shorts. He wiggles his toes, to see if it helps slightly with circulation and reduces the blueish tint of his veins underneath his skin. 

“This is slander,” Hwanwoong says. “I tell you how nice your butt is all the time without any ulterior motives!” 

“Only your butt compliments are genuine,” Seoho admits, before he starts probing. “What’s going on? Do you need me to drive you guys to your date or something?” 

“I can drive just fine,” Hwanwoong says. “Don’t you trust me?” 

“I do,” Seoho says. Dongju is alert enough for five well rested Hwanwoongs, so he’s not actually worried. “But I drive better, so.” 

“We’ll be fine!” Hwanwoong laughs, slapping Seoho on the back in an attempt to reassure him. “Might take a couple detours ‘cause I’m bad at listening to the GPS, but we’ll be fine!” 

“If by fine you mean driving in circles and not realizing until the fifth time around,” Seoho says slowly, and Hwanwoong scowls at him, “that sounds about right.” 

“That was _once_ —”

“And it was dark, and the navigation was being creepy, yeah, yeah,” Seoho says, because he knows the story and he was also _in_ the car with Hwanwoong when said story occurred. Some mysteries can’t be explained, but it doesn’t mean Seoho can’t have his fun teasing Hwanwoong. “I just don’t think getting a burger after class should have been that complicated.” 

“I was going to get you a souvenir when we got to the museum,” Hwanwoong says. “I’ll get you a speck of dirt, maybe, because you only ever make fun of me.” 

“So you’re bringing yourself back?” Seoho asks, and he probably deserves it when Hwanwoong grabs a fistful of his shirt. “Hwanwoong, be _gentle_ with me, please—” 

They’re interrupted by a knock on the front door, and Hwanwoong’s whole face lights up. “That must be Dongju!” 

Seoho doesn’t bother following him, and scratches at his hip absentmindedly as he considers whether to get a headstart on his homework or roll back into bed. He’d stayed up late last night to watch alien documentaries, too engrossed in hearing more to mind the way time was running away from him. 

Just when he thinks it’s a little _too_ quiet, Seoho hears footsteps approaching, which means either Dongju or Hwanwoong are coming into the kitchen. It might be both of them, even, because they like to greet Seoho before they leave for dates and fuss at him to make sure he’ll be okay without them around, like he’s not the one taking care of them half the time. 

“Seoho! I thought you might be lonely, so I brought you a treat,” says Dongju, with a lilt to his voice that probably means he’s in a pranking mood and not a considerate one. 

Amused but only half humoring Dongju, Seoho takes his sweet time looking through the sparse contents of the refrigerator before he closes the door and makes eye contact. “Contrary to what your tiny little brain tells you, Dongju, I actually find relief when you’re not—” 

Then he sees the “treat” Dongju has brought, and realizes it’s not a thing at all, but a _person._

“Hi,” Geonhak says from where he’s standing behind Dongju. His smile is mostly innocent, but it doesn’t make Seoho any less at a loss for words. “Seoho.” 

Geonhak’s dressed simply, holding onto a charcoal-khaki acid wash jacket which he must have taken off as soon as he stepped inside. His beige sweater hugs his frame in unfortunate, flattering ways, and the jeans he’s wearing are ripped at the knees and stretched thin on the thighs. Out of all the pairs Geonhak rotates between, these are Seoho’s favorite on him, and he idly, stupidly wonders whether the harsh marks he’d left a week ago on Geonhak’s thighs would still be visible behind the denim. 

Seoho could do without the early morning reminder of why he hasn’t texted Geonhak in a week, despite having pulled up their conversation history more often than he should have, and all the ways they’re going to gravitate towards each other after this even if Seoho doesn’t want it.

“Hi,” Seoho says neutrally, then forces his eyes off of Geonhak and onto Dongju. “What is this?” 

“Like I said, a treat,” Dongju repeats. He grabs Geonhak by the arm and pulls him forward. “I told Geonhak you might be lonely without us to keep you company, and he was so kind as to come spend time with you.” 

“Were you bullied into doing this?” Seoho asks, and he can tell Geonhak is holding back a laugh. Geonhak will not be laughing so cutely when Hwanwoong and Dongju have left and Seoho unleashes his full wrath. 

“No,” Geonhak says. “I wasn’t.”

“I’m going back to bed,” Seoho says, not actually moving from where he’s standing, but Dongju still reaches out to stop him. 

“You can’t,” Dongju says. “Geonhak’s a nice boy. Take him on a playdate.” 

“So I’ve been given puppy-sitting duties,” Seoho says, instead of the _I know he’s a nice boy_ that had nearly come out of his mouth way too easily. “Geonhak can take himself on a playdate. You’ve seen those dogs that hold their own leash in their mouth, right?” Dongju pinches him, making Seoho yelp in pain. “Is this any way to treat your boyfriend’s favorite man—” 

“I’m Hwanwoong’s favorite man,” Dongju says. “You’re just comic relief.” 

“A blow to my pride,” Seoho says dryly, and Dongju pushes Geonhak towards him. Instinctively, Seoho reaches out to steady Geonhak, and Geonhak leans into him just as easily, but Seoho drops his hands from Geonhak’s hips when he realizes where Dongju’s eyes have dropped. 

“Sorry,” Geonhak says, and Seoho doesn’t look at him, because Geonhak is staring at his mouth and Seoho can’t directly tell him to stop it.

“Well,” Dongju says, clapping his hands together in excitement, and it’s at this moment that Hwanwoong comes into the kitchen too, one of his backpack straps slung over his shoulder, giant phone held in his opposite hand. “You two will probably get along swimmingly, based on my research.” 

“Research,” Seoho echoes, mockingly, and he ducks away from Dongju trying to step on his toes. Hwanwoong’s expression is pensive as he looks between Seoho and Geonhak, and Seoho is sure that Hwanwoong must have been in on the plan or else he’d be more surprised at Geonhak’s presence, but it still makes Seoho nervous, that Hwanwoong might be seeing something Seoho hasn’t thought far ahead enough to obscure. 

“You’re not annoyed,” Hwanwoong says, when they’re getting ready to leave and Geonhak is checking something in Dongju’s car before they head out. 

“I’m polite, is what you mean,” Seoho says. “Am I supposed to kick a puppy after it’s been dumped in my arms? What were you two thinking, sicking someone I barely know on me?” 

“You’re usually a lot more standoffish,” Hwanwoong says, narrowing his eyes. “You haven’t met him before?” 

Seoho doesn’t meet Hwanwoong’s eyes, suddenly afraid that he can’t pull off his usual nonchalance. “How standoffish am I going to act towards your boyfriend’s best friend?” he asks, instead of answering Hwanwoong’s question directly. “We’ll make some polite talk and then I’ll send him home.” 

Hwanwoong wraps his fingers around Seoho’s wrist. They’re cold. Nothing new there, since Seoho had noticed it back in the beginning of their friendship, when Hwanwoong would grab him every time something funny happened. Seoho wants to complain and he’s about to, but Hwanwoong is staring up at him with an intense, indecipherable look as he says, “Dongju wasn’t lying about Geonhak agreeing to come spend time with you. He’s into you. I can tell.” 

“You thought that girl in our modernism class was into me, too,” Seoho says, laughing. “Turns out she had a boyfriend, remember?” 

“She totally wanted to break up with him for you, this is a hill I _will_ die on. If I had her phone number now I would call her, just to ask,” Hwanwoong says. “I’m serious, Seoho. At least try with Geonhak?” 

“Try _what_?” Seoho can feel his smile fading, although he quickly pastes it back on because he doesn’t want Hwanwoong to feel bad. He doesn’t mind Hwanwoong and Dongju scheming, but they should know he’s not interested in playing games where he’s not the one determining the rules. 

Hwanwoong seems to realize this, and he just shakes his bangs out of his eyes, scratching at the back of his neck. “Sorry, Seoho, I just think…” 

“Don’t _worry,_ ” Seoho says, turning him around and pushing him towards the passenger side of Dongju’s SUV. Geonhak looks about done with fixing whatever it is Dongju was concerned about, and Seoho doesn’t want him to hear or see Hwanwoong’s concern when it’s only going to be inconvenient for everyone. “Worry instead about making your little museum date perfect, okay?” 

“Fine,” Hwanwoong says, the confrontational curl of his mouth turning into something more resigned. “Alright.” 

It’s only after he and Dongju have exited the driveway that Seoho drops the act, turning to Geonhak. “You planned this,” Seoho says, and Geonhak smiles almost bashfully at him, like a child who‘s been caught doing something wrong but doesn’t really regret it. 

“And if I did?” 

“Why?” Seoho asks. “Is this because you’re upset, or…” 

“You said you would make it up to me,” Geonhak says. He’s pouting, and Seoho is horrified that his first instinct is to kiss it off of Geonhak’s face. 

“Yeah,” Seoho says, dully, pausing for a moment to consider his wording before he gives up entirely on being merciful. “And then I sucked you off until you came down my throat.” 

Geonhak’s embarrassment manifests in adorably red ears, and a lot of blustering that makes Seoho chuckle at the irony of it all because it feels like they’re both forgetting how this relationship started off in the first place.

“That’s not anything you wouldn’t have done before,” Geonhak says. “And you never said I wasn’t allowed to come see you.” 

Seoho sighs, picks at his nails. 

“I get that you’re a private person,” Geonhak continues. “The last thing you’d want to do is to broadcast who you’re having sex with on a giant billboard. I’m not here to ruin that for you, so don’t...” he frowns. “Don’t brush me off.” 

“I’m not,” Seoho says. 

“If I did or said something wrong,” Geonhak says, jutting his chin out firmly in a way that seems like he’s trying to steel himself for inevitable criticism from Seoho, “you should tell me what it is so I don’t do it again.” 

For a moment, Seoho just stares at him. Takes in the doubt weaved through the soft pinch of Geonhak’s eyebrows, the way Geonhak’s fidgeting and pulling at his sleeves, and all the signs that tell Seoho he’s in too deep to try and be cruel again, when Geonhak’s so clearly afraid of it. 

“You did nothing wrong,” Seoho says. He thoughtlessly reaches out to cup Geonhak’s jaw, wanting to soothe, and he only registers doing so once Geonhak leans back into the touch, with tenfold Seoho’s force. “Really.” 

“How long were you going to act like we didn’t know each other in front of our friends, then?” Geonhak rolls his upper lip inwards, and he looks down at the ground. 

Seoho shrugs. “Not sure.” The compartmentalizing has always bothered Geonhak, he knows, but too much overlap where he doesn’t want it gives Seoho the same sort of discomfort. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” 

“So I’m allowed...” Geonhak says, “I’m allowed at least this much, right?” 

_I’ve already allowed you to get too close,_ Seoho thinks to himself with a sigh. “How much does Dongju know?” 

“Not a lot?” Geonhak replies. He makes a quiet, huffy noise when Seoho begins to withdraw his hand, and Seoho indulges him by sliding his hand back up Geonhak’s jaw, settling at the junction between Geonhak’s cheek and ear. It really is awful how effortlessly their body language syncs up now, even in the moments they’re doing nothing but standing in front of each other. “He showed me pictures of you, and asked if I was interested. I said yes, that’s all.” 

“‘That’s all’,” Seoho repeats. He can’t even find it in him to scold Geonhak. “Like you haven’t caused enough trouble.” 

“How else am I going to get what I want?” Geonhak asks. 

Seoho laughs. He’s always preferred people who don’t have ulterior motives, or don’t play nice under the guise of obtaining something else, but Geonhak’s honesty always throws him off balance just when Seoho’s starting to get used to it. “Careful there, you’re starting to sound like Dongju, and that’s going to be too many brats in my life,” he says. “So what do you want right now, Geonhak?” 

“A home tour!” Geonhak’s voice goes soft and velvety, the same way it does whenever he’s trying to coax Seoho into kissing him more, because he cares less about Seoho’s thrusts losing rhythm and more about Seoho’s mouth always being on his. ( _Because it makes everything feel better,_ he’d explained once, and then he’d left Seoho’s lips swollen and sensitive enough to remind him the next day, and maybe the day after that, even, where Geonhak’s mouth had been.) “Show me your room, Seoho.” 

“That sounds like a reward for bad behavior,” Seoho says, but he’s already considering whether his room’s clean enough, and pulling away once he decides the answer to that is _yes._

“Oh,” Geonhak says, when he carefully steps through the doorway of Seoho’s bedroom. “So this is why you didn’t want me to come over, huh? Because there’d be no space to fuck.” 

“Shut up,” Seoho retorts. Geonhak just smiles at him, and it’s kind, gentle, soothing, but Seoho’s chest burns with a familiar uneasiness all the same. 

Seoho feels silly standing there while Geonhak takes in the sight of his bed, or more importantly, the side of the bed near the wall, which is filled with a plethora of frog plushies Seoho has collected over the years. Most of them are personal purchases, various shades of olive and mint and teal, but several were gifts added to his collection by Hwanwoong and Youngjo, among other friends. There’s even one from Dongju, who hasn’t seen the whole collection but once heard from Hwanwoong that Seoho liked frogs and later surprised Seoho with a tiny frog figurine. (“ _He looks just as annoying as you,_ ” Dongju had said, but Seoho had thought the figurine’s expression was cute, so he’d told Dongju that he accepted the obvious compliment.) 

Seoho clears his throat. “It’s not weird?” 

“Is it?” Geonhak asks. He leans against the doorframe, studying Seoho. 

“My mom ran a toy shop back in Korea, before we moved here,” Seoho says. “I figure that’s why I like them so much, but I’d probably still collect them regardless of her background.” He can hear the nervousness in his own laugh, and he hopes Geonhak doesn’t pick up on it. Why is he even talking about his mom, to Geonhak? “They’re soft, and—”

“Yeah, they’re cute,” Geonhak says. “...In an ugly sort of way.” 

Shocked and in disbelief, Seoho gapes at him, and then Geonhak’s dissolving into laughter, putting all his weight on one side of the doorframe. Seoho would be more endeared if the sound of Geonhak’s joy didn’t directly correlate with how insulted he feels. “I can’t believe you.” 

“Sorry, sorry,” Geonhak says. “I had a feeling your reaction would be really funny.” He tries to gather himself and stand up straight, but he starts laughing _again_ , and Seoho crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re really cute when you’re caught off guard.”

“Are you trying to sweet talk your way into forgiveness?” 

“Is it working?” Geonhak asks. 

“No,” Seoho says, even as he lets Geonhak close the distance between them, lets himself be kissed and allows Geonhak to nudge him until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed and force him to sit down, Geonhak following closely behind. 

“Then I’ll get you a lot of frog plushies,” Geonhak says. “As a token of peace.” He hovers over Seoho, propping himself up with his arms as he drops borderline ticklish kisses at Seoho’s neck and cheek and ear. “Okay?” Eyes on Seoho’s face now, reading whatever sliver of Seoho’s mood is visible, Geonhak looks serious about the offer. 

Seoho is the first to break eye contact. “And crowd my bed more?” 

“Maybe you can get one of those hammocks where you can store them on the wall,” Geonhak says, pursing his lips thoughtfully. “Then you’d have space to double your collection.” 

“It’s not like I need more stuff to carry around if I have to move again,” Seoho says. 

“True,” Geonhak says, even as he stares at Seoho’s mouth, the same way he had been staring when Dongju had first brought him over. “I can help if that happens, though. Help you move.” 

Seoho’s stomach swoops at that, because…

Because at the end of the day, Geonhak is just _caring,_ and he’s the kind of guy who goes out of his way to be nice without asking for anything in return, and he’d probably rush to help Seoho if Seoho was really in need of it regardless of where they stand with each other by then. 

“Always seizing the opportunity to show your muscles, huh?” Seoho teases, and Geonhak instantly bristles. 

“I don’t want to talk to you anymore,” he says, following through with the announcement by pressing their mouths together before Seoho can get any cutting retorts out. He’s eager, enthusiastic, focused as he licks at the seam of Seoho’s mouth and waits for Seoho to part his lips, playing with the jewelry of Seoho’s tongue piercing even as confused laughter trickles out of Seoho. 

“You’ve gotten more comfortable with kissing,” Geonhak remarks when he eventually pulls away for air, watching Seoho’s winded look with interest. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, so there’s no reason for him to be so attentive. 

“Well, when a puppy insists on slobbering all over your face—” 

Geonhak laughs loudly, before he stills and remembers his first reaction should have been one of anger. “Shut. Up,” he hisses into the center dip between Seoho’s collarbones, the aggressive exhale of his words a hot and ticklish constant against Seoho’s skin before he’s traveling lower, farther away from Seoho’s face. 

“It’s still morning,” Seoho says mildly, as Geonhak drops to his knees, with the kind of look in his eyes that makes Seoho bite on his bottom lip out of necessity so he doesn’t swear. 

“No one’s home,” Geonhak says. He’s massaging at Seoho’s thigh with one hand now, lifting the hem of Seoho’s hoodie with the other, admiring Seoho’s lean morning abs, swiping his thumb over the soft, thin hairs tapering below Seoho’s navel, and it’s hard to imagine that just a few minutes ago, he was blushing at Seoho talking about blowjobs. “Remember how I said not to worry because I definitely wasn’t going to suck you off while Hwanwoong was home? Well, that’s not an issue anymore.” 

“I haven’t even had breakfast,” Seoho says. 

“Let me have mine, first,” Geonhak replies, smooth as butter, and the words sound so ridiculous coming out of his mouth that Seoho just groans into his hands. 

“Your sense of humor _sucks_.” 

“You think it’s very sexy,” Geonhak says, “you’re laughing on the inside. I know it.” 

“If laughing is code for crying, you’re absolutely right—” Seoho says, and then Geonhak is reaching for Seoho’s rapidly hardening cock through the bottom of Seoho’s shorts. He teases Seoho with a deceptively benign puff of air against the tip, like he’s accidentally breathed too close without any awareness of what he’s doing, but Seoho twitches in his grip, biting back an embarrassed sound, and Geonhak laughs at him. 

“Cute,” Geonhak remarks, before he’s scrambling to get Seoho’s shorts off and give himself full access, letting go momentarily just to return even more intense, taking Seoho in his mouth all the way to the base of Seoho’s cock, and it’s all Seoho can do to just _breathe—_

“Oh fuck me,” Seoho mumbles to no one in particular, forty minutes later. He’d meant to get off once, and then get Geonhak off _once,_ and that is what they’ve done, precisely, but Geonhak had pulled Seoho back into his lap after they’d both rinsed their mouths out to kiss him again. And. Well. 

It’s probably not his fault that time runs away from him when he’s got Geonhak this close, keen and wanting and perfect. Geonhak’s hands on him, ever careful in their continual landing on skin, cotton, and muscle, take up the forefront of Seoho’s attention and make everything else feel like white noise, fading to the back of his mind to be worried about at a later time. 

Geonhak hums, lips resting against Seoho’s skin, and the reverberation of it has a jolt of electricity branching out, running both ways along a tendon in Seoho’s neck, like a lightning bolt in a night sky. “What should we do for the rest of the day?”

“Who said you were getting a whole day with me?” Seoho asks. 

“Me!” Geonhak’s enthusiasm quickly morphs into a pleading whine. His breath smells strongly of mint when he leans in close to wheedle his way to more of Seoho’s time, or Seoho honestly might just be tasting the reminder of where Geonhak has been in his mouth. “Take me out for a ride on your motorcycle. I went to the trouble of coming all the way here.” 

“Strange,” Seoho says. “That sounds very much like a you problem.” 

He pointedly doesn’t mention that he’s had a brand new helmet sitting untouched in his closet for weeks, just in case Geonhak really did come over. It wasn’t an isolated purchase; Seoho’d figured he might give other people rides in the future, too, out of convenience, if they don’t mind the Kawasaki and a bit of wind. 

It’s worth it to hold that vital information back, though, just to see the way Geonhak’s eyes go fiery and the way his hands ball into fists. Predictable, and lively all the same. Seoho catches Geonhak’s wrists before he can do any real damage, and he laughs even as Geonhak invades his personal bubble, their noses nearly touching as Geonhak asks _are you going to continue being an asshole—_

Seoho does take Geonhak on a ride, though not before forcing Geonhak into a warmer, thicker jacket. Geonhak doesn’t put up much of a fight, but even so, Seoho taps with his index finger at the bridge of Geonhak’s nose where the skin is scrunched up from Geonhak’s disdain. 

“Your pretty denim jacket won’t hold up against the cold,” Seoho tells him. “You’re going to get sick if you’re not careful, and I won’t nurse you back to health if that happens.” 

“I’m very healthy,” Geonhak says, faintly, as he watches Seoho zip up his borrowed jacket for him. 

“Oh, you’re right,” Seoho says. He pulls back with a smirk. “Dumbasses don’t get sick.” 

Geonhak sputters. “You can’t even fully commit when you’re being nice?!” 

“I have to say at least five mean things an hour,” Seoho says. He takes off his shirt to switch into something cleaner, having already put on his usual black pair of jeans, and pretends not to notice Geonhak staring at his ass. “Or I start melting into a puddle.” 

“I think there are other ways to melt you,” Geonhak says, and Seoho shoves him before Geonhak’s eyes can drop in corroboration with his innuendo, because they’re definitely not delaying this for another round of Geonhak thinking primarily with his dick and dragging Seoho down with him. 

“Cut it out,” Seoho says, but Geonhak just giggles, unphased and too pleased with himself. It makes Seoho want to snarl at him, though he settles for reaching out and pulling the zipper of Geonhak’s borrowed jacket up so high that it covers Geonhak’s mouth, earning him a muffled grunt of irritation. 

Absence definitely doesn’t make the heart fonder, Seoho decides, when they’re on the road and Geonhak has his arms wrapped impossibly tight around Seoho’s waist, the insides of his thighs secure against Seoho’s own. He’d like to think the constant buzz of something barely there under his skin is because he’s used to riding alone, but there are only so many ways to root himself in denial even if Seoho’s getting really good at it. 

When Geonhak’s this close, it’s terrible, because Seoho can feel the way Geonhak fills in all of his cracks, makes him softer and less sharp against his better judgment. 

Like shattered pottery revived with gold rivers poured in its seams, physical damage repurposed and redesigned into something of beauty worth admiring. 

He stops in the hills, in a spot right after a blind curve in the road, where there’s barely any traffic and it’s safe to park his motorbike for a few minutes so that they can look at the city view. 

Clouds hang low in the sky, but they’re not heavy, barely obscuring the clear blue of the atmosphere above and in between. It’s midday, too bright for a grid of electricity to contrast the landscape the same way it would at night, but the cars on the freeway shimmer and bounce dots of gold and copper in the distance, catching attention regardless. 

It’s a completely different sort of pretty, when Geonhak mirrors Seoho’s movements and takes off his helmet, shaking his ivory blonde hair back into his eyes and smoothing down the parts of it around the crown that have caught static. His roots are growing out, resembling ink seeping into weathered, cream colored paper, or maybe a black sesame vanilla blend of ice cream. Either way, Seoho likes it. 

Seoho looks away once Geonhak looks up at him, suddenly conscious of the fondness Geonhak might be able to read in his stare if they make eye contact for too long. “Your best smiles happen when you forget people are looking,” Geonhak says, immediately, and Seoho sucks in a breath. “Why is that?”

It’s not what Seoho expects him to say, and he can feel himself flushing at the compliment, made worse by the fact that his smile had been a direct result of watching Geonhak. 

“It’s important that people remain wary in front of me,” Seoho says, letting his lips curl into something more devious and less genuine. “I’m very dangerous.” 

“Dangerous?” Geonhak seems to turn the word over in his mouth, considering. Then he offers a smile of his own that matches Seoho’s in mischief. Seoho wonders if he’s going to make a sex joke. “Maybe, if you’re scared of flies buzzing around your head.” 

Seoho shoots him a withering look. “Are you calling me a pest, Geonhak?” 

“I’m saying you’re harmless,” Geonhak corrects sweetly. “You can see so much from this high up. It’s nice.” He looks out into the distance, and Seoho takes the opportunity to admire Geonhak’s profile, the way sharpness and strong angles ease into soft curves through one fluid motion, encompassing all the plane changes of his small but full features. “Do you come here with other people often?” 

“I think you’re under the false impression that I have a lot of time to play,” Seoho says. He’s really not that sociable, and even before, he hadn’t necessarily opened himself up in the same ways emotionally he has with Geonhak. It’s a relentless thought he keeps pushing away for later. “I usually come here alone, though it’s been a while.” 

“You have plenty of time to play when it comes to me, though,” Geonhak says, scooting closer to where Seoho’s leaning against the seat of his motorcycle. “Right?” 

“Exceptions can be made. Sometimes in poor taste.” Seoho runs a hand through his hair, laughing when Geonhak makes a displeased noise and pulls at Seoho’s pinky finger in retribution. “It’s not like I’ve had any extra helmets handy, anyways.” 

“Don’t people go helmet free pretty often?” 

“It’s not a rule you’ll find me bending,” Seoho says. There are a million other things to be disobedient about, but being on the road opens up infinite ways to get hurt, too many unknown variables in play, and it’s not something Seoho would ever risk with himself again, let alone Geonhak. 

Before they set to head back, Geonhak visibly hesitates, not dropping down his sun visor yet. 

“What’s wrong?” Seoho asks. 

“I’m worried it’ll be dangerous,” Geonhak says, and Seoho narrows his eyes. The ride up here had been tame, in his opinion, because Seoho never pushes speeds anywhere close to what his reflexes can actually handle. 

“Dangerous?” 

“The wind is very scary,” Geonhak says, a smile teasing at the corners of his mouth. “I think I’m going to need a couple kisses to get through the ride back.” 

Seoho reaches out, slowly, and he can hear Geonhak’s yell of protest fade into something muffled as he flips the sun visor of Geonhak’s helmet down as hard as he can, effectively shutting him up. 

Geonhak’s still pretending to be grumpy when Seoho pulls into the parking lot at a lone coffee shop in the mountains that would look like the set up for a horror movie if it were dark out. Good thing the owners usually close before the sun sets, but it’d be an interesting sight, glowing yellow lights in a vast sheet of darkness. 

Despite the location, they’re nearly always busy, a favorite niche destination for hikers and cyclists in the middle of long training sessions. Boasting no more than five parking spots, the size of the lot is proportional to the shop itself, a tiny, crammed space that reminds Seoho of a popular ice cream shop near the university (Youngjo tells him it’s not very loyal of him to be eating ice cream when he works at Cider Moon but Seoho thinks Youngjo just likes every excuse he can possibly find to see Yonghoon even outside of work hours). 

Bringing Geonhak here of his own free will is a move that contradicts what he’d told Geonhak last time, but Seoho figures it’s too late to try and establish new rules where there were never any to begin with. There are so many knots between them, and untangling them is going to take a lot more than just Seoho telling Geonhak to keep his distance, when neither of them seem to do it very well. 

“I’ve never heard of this place,” Geonhak says quietly, as he follows Seoho into the shop, ducking his head for a more graceful entrance through the hanging curtain that splits in the middle. There’s a line, but it’s not too bad for prime lunch hour on a Saturday. 

“Because you spend all your free time at fancy, uptight stores,” Seoho says, patting Geonhak’s butt when Geonhak makes a face like he’s going to argue. “Well, this is a little out of the way even for your typical foodie.” 

Seoho orders for both of them, because Geonhak asks him to, mumbling something about wanting to rely on Seoho’s recommendation. Seoho pays, too, bumping Geonhak out of the way with his hip when Geonhak tries to take out his wallet. “I’m the one taking you out on a playdate, puppy,” he says. “Gotta keep my word to your terror of a best friend.” 

Geonhak doesn’t respond until they’ve got their order ticket, laminated and dangling off of a metal pole that Seoho likes to spin out of habit. “It wouldn’t have been a big deal. I’m the one who showed up unannounced and took up your time.” 

“I can be generous, too, once in a blue moon,” Seoho says. Geonhak might be able to afford treating him all the time and more, but that doesn’t mean Seoho’s going to take advantage of it. That’s the more genuine reason behind him wanting to pay, though he’s not going to disclose it to Geonhak for obvious reasons. 

Geonhak blinks at him, looking like he wants to say something but can’t figure out how. 

“What is it?” Seoho says, after he’s brought their food over and Geonhak is still staring at him, eyes glossed over instead of paying attention to the triangular rice balls Seoho ordered in different flavors specifically because they’re shaped like Geonhak’s face. Seoho knows Geonhak is partial to eel seasoned with sweeter soy sauce, and he is, too, so he’d gotten extra. “Are you charmed by my good looks?” 

He says it offhandedly, expecting Geonhak to deny it or tell him to shut up because Geonhak is completely awake now compared to that one time he’d sleepily agreed Seoho was pretty. 

What he doesn’t expect is Geonhak, a little pink in the cheeks, to reply without missing a beat, “I was just thinking it’s not fair, that you’re so likeable even when you’re not trying to be.” 

_Too honest,_ Seoho thinks. 

He tries to be nonchalant. Geonhak gives out compliments more willingly than Seoho does, so it’s not like this is some sign Seoho has to read into. “Hm?” 

“Like,” Geonhak says, a bit too loudly, “you’re nice, and mean, and hot, and so good at sex.”

“Ah,” Seoho says, trying not to laugh when he sees a few girls near them staring. He’s not even so much concerned as he is amused. “Geonhak, your eloquence and delicacy always astound me.” 

“Oh,” Geonhak says, only just realizing what he’s said, and a laugh spills out of Seoho when he sees Geonhak’s expression of quiet horror. 

“What was that about not broadcasting our personal affairs on a giant billboard, hm?” 

“Sorry,” Geonhak whines, lowly. 

“It’s fine.” Seoho resists the urge to kiss Geonhak. There are of course other ways to make him stop pouting, but it’s becoming second nature to always _touch_ some part of Geonhak because it’s the quickest way to assuage him, make him more agreeable. “I’m surprised you would say that, though.” 

“Why?” 

“I think you’re even more unfair,” Seoho says, airily, unwrapping the plastic film from one rice ball labeled _spicy shrimp_ and shoving one of the rounded vertices of rice into Geonhak’s mouth before Geonhak can ask him what he means. 

Seoho, after all, doesn’t know if he knows the entirety of his answer himself. 

✧

Hwanwoong and Dongju come home to find Seoho fast asleep on the couch, with his face tucked into Geonhak’s chest as a quiet science fiction movie plays on Seoho’s laptop. 

Seoho had meant to drop Geonhak off at his place after they finished their food, but Geonhak had been oddly reluctant to leave his side, coaxing Seoho into giving him just a bit more of his time. 

It’s terrible and chaotic and embarrassing because Seoho wakes up to _pictures being taken of him and Geonhak_ with no way to fight back, since Geonhak’s arms are wrapped around his waist and their legs are entangled. Loosely, but still tangled enough that it makes it unusually difficult for a sleep-soft Seoho to eject himself at his housemate and his housemate’s boyfriend and their too close phone cameras. 

“Fuck off,” is all he manages, instead, and he can feel Geonhak shaking against him with warm, silent laughter. 

That alone wears away at the rough edges of Seoho’s irritation, giving the shards no chance to collide because of all the patience in between them. 

“Oh, this is gold,” Dongju says delightedly, scrolling through his phone and presumably choosing the best, most humiliating shots he’s gotten of Seoho’s drooling face from minutes earlier. “So cute.” 

Seoho sighs, deliberating for a moment what his priorities are before he gathers the resolve and peels himself away from Geonhak, peering up at Hwanwoong and Dongju with only one eye open. His cheek has knit imprint creases from being pressed against Geonhak’s sweater, and his glasses are skewed, smudged in the center on one lens because a patch of Dongju’s face is blurry in his vision. 

“I thought you would be back later,” Seoho says. Geonhak hasn’t made any effort to put distance between them, and he’s kneading at Seoho’s hip in the way he knows makes Seoho less grumpy. It’s working, but right now is not the time. 

“We took all the nice pictures we needed,” Dongju says. “And Hwanwoong gets bored easily. He was going to start breakdancing on the installation if I didn’t find a change of scenery for him sooner.”

“You were getting tired, too,” Hwanwoong says, affronted. “Don’t pin all the blame on me.” 

“Whatever it _is_ ,” Dongju says, unbothered, rocking back on his heels as he smiles pointedly at Seoho, “we’re so glad we came back soon enough to document this.” 

“I’m going to break your phone,” Seoho says. 

“That’s what the cloud’s for.” Dongju sticks out his tongue, triumphant and smug, and Seoho doesn’t attempt to pull on it only because he’s still trapped by Geonhak’s limbs. 

Half an hour later, Hwanwoong’s searching stare is strong enough that Seoho can feel the weight of it boring into his back as he pours himself a glass of water. 

Dongju and Geonhak have already left. Seoho’s laptop is still paused on a frame from _Arrival,_ and Geonhak’s denim jacket is gone from where it was originally draped over the back of one of the dining chairs. The jacket he’d borrowed from Seoho is folded into a neat square and placed in the center of the couch courtesy of Dongju. 

Seoho feels a vastness in his chest that aches despite its subtlety, and he wonders if this is what Geonhak wakes up to on the days Seoho has to leave without letting him know first. He’d hoped, in obvious vain, that it wouldn’t come to this. 

He skims fingers across the kitchen counter before finally giving in to Hwanwoong’s silence and turning to face him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Hwanwoong answers immediately. “It’s weird.” 

“What’s weird?” Seoho asks, patiently. 

“Dongju only told me Geonhak was interested,” Hwanwoong says, wasting no time, “but you’ve been seeing him, haven’t you?” 

“Seeing him?” Seoho echoes, before he sighs and just admits to it. “Something like that.” 

“That’s why you weren’t awkward with him,” Hwanwoong says. He’s still staring at Seoho’s face, like he’s going to figure out what Seoho’s thinking if he just focuses long enough. “I should have known.” 

“I’m never awkward with people.” Seoho smiles, but it probably comes across flat. 

“Keep telling yourself that, and maybe one day it’ll become true,” Hwanwoong says. 

“I’m very good at digging out my people skills under the right circumstances,” Seoho replies. 

“So Geonhak falls under ‘the right circumstances,’ then?” Hwanwoong asks. He doesn’t sound angry, but he’s definitely impatient for Seoho to fill in the rest of the blanks for him. “It’s just...it took you months before you warmed up to me even a little, and I’ve known you for years, and you’ve never fallen asleep on me like that. Not even back when…” _we had dance competitions,_ he means, _when the situation called for it._ “Unless you _have_ known him for a while and I just haven’t noticed?” 

“It’s been a few months, yeah,” Seoho says, “but it wasn’t something I wanted to talk about.” The words feel heavy in his mouth, and Hwanwoong’s growing confusion, or disappointment, evident in his face, feels even heavier. 

“Why?” Hwanwoong asks. “Did you think I was going to be annoying about it, or…” 

“Well,” Seoho says, with a wry laugh. He means to angle it like a joke, but he’s not sure if his voice is going to stay steady enough and Hwanwoong’s lips are pursed, which he only does whenever he’s on the brink of picking up what Seoho’s feeling. 

Seoho hates making a mess. He always has. If he fucked up with Geonhak or got hurt, but kept silent, the fallout wouldn’t have affected anyone else besides him. To share the burden of sincere feelings with Hwanwoong, knowing it would bring concern where Seoho didn’t want it, was unthinkable. 

For better or for worse, Seoho never quite opens up until something forces him to implode. 

“You idiot,” Hwanwoong sighs. “Why are you so hostile to the idea of the people who care about you finding out you’re dating someone? Or finding out you’re, like, _happy_?” 

“It’s not...it’s supposed to be casual,” Seoho says, and isn’t that the worst part of it all? Hwanwoong’s eyes widen at the word’s implications, and Seoho kind of wants to throw up because _casual_ is the last word he’d use to describe this horrible, inescapable, larger than life web of emotions he’s gotten entangled in thanks to Geonhak. “There are no feelings.” 

“No feelings?” Hwanwoong snorts. “You can lie to everyone else, Seoho, but you can’t lie to me, not with what I know about you. Not after I’ve seen the way you look at him.” 

Seoho rubs at his face. His glasses are dirty, still, so he takes them off and cleans them with the hem of his shirt. “I…” He doesn’t have even a fraction of a counterargument. 

“You fell asleep in his arms, on the couch,” Hwanwoong says. “For you, that’s some serious gooey love shit considering you’re a finicky machine who can’t fall asleep anywhere except your own bed.” 

“It’s just _sex_ ,” Seoho says. It sounds feeble, even to his own ears. “Or it’s supposed to be.” 

“No it is fucking not,” Hwanwoong says. He takes a deep breath. “You literally _run_ screaming from anyone who shows even an ounce of romantic interest in you because you stopped trusting people after June and you started pretending not to care about anything after the accident and you started thinking happiness was meant for everyone else except you.” His cheeks are pink from the exertion of talking so long without punctuating, and Seoho can’t even make fun of him because he feels like he’s drowning. 

“I know,” Seoho says, staring into his cup. Maybe he’ll find a way to cut off all these horrifying, earnest feelings in the reflection of the water. 

Hwanwoong sucks at his teeth in exasperation. “So you should also know that whatever you’ve got going on with Geonhak, dicks out or not, is genuine affection. He sticks to you like one of those magnets that breaks your nail before it comes off the whiteboard, and he gets all excited and puppy tail waggy every time you smile at him—” 

“He doesn’t have boundaries,” Seoho says. “I can’t use his lack of boundaries as some strange measure for how likely it is he might want more from me.” 

It’s the closest he’s ever come to admitting he’s in love with Geonhak, and the words hang in the air between them, heavy and revealing. It feels like an ocean wave is crashing inside of Seoho’s chest. 

“There’s this thing,” Hwanwoong says, slowly, “called _communication,_ you see, where you ask someone for what you want and only then will they know to even consider the possibility—” 

“I’m appalled you would expect something so emotionally mature from me,” Seoho says, and Hwanwoong smacks him on the arm. 

“You’re so stupid,” Hwanwoong says, in the tone of voice that means he’s given up on pushing Seoho for now. “Do you want a hug?” 

“Sure,” Seoho says, bracing himself for Hwanwoong to launch himself at Seoho’s chest, but Hwanwoong just laughs. 

“Go get it from Geonhak, after you tell him you want to smooch him under the moonlight because you think he’s wonderful.” 

“Noooooo,” Seoho wails, and then Hwanwoong does hug him, squeezing Seoho so hard he thinks all the air is going to get squished out of his lungs from Hwanwoong’s strength. 

“Are you going to talk to him eventually?” Hwanwoong asks. “I think he...I don’t think you have to worry about it being one sided. If that’s what you’re...”

Hwanwoong smells like Dongju, a little, when Seoho’s paying attention to it, hints of strawberry body wash lingering on his clothes. He sighs, because it’s probably the same for him and Geonhak, only Seoho’s left so many things unsaid and now he’s too afraid to let them ever move past his heart, let alone his throat. “I might, if you don’t say anything to Dongju.” 

“This sounds like you’ve made a perfect loophole to get out of talking about your feelings, ever,” Hwanwoong says. He sounds suspicious but also like he’s not entirely sure what he’s agreeing to, and Seoho laughs. 

“What could you possibly mean, Hwanwoong?”

“Don’t break his heart,” Hwanwoong says. “Or your own. Can I expect at least that much from you?” The way he says it, the way he looks at Seoho, he might as well have said those things come hand in hand _,_ like Seoho’s and Geonhak’s hearts are already inexplicably linked, and that’s... 

“What do you want to eat for dinner?” Seoho asks, instead of making any promises, and Hwanwoong sighs long and drawn out before he headbutts Seoho in the jaw, dutifully playing along and asking what they have left in the fridge to make dinner with. 

✧

Admitting out loud that he’s somewhat in love with Geonhak doesn’t change things much on Seoho’s end. 

He still brushes his knuckles against Geonhak’s jaw when Geonhak’s asleep, feeling inklings of stubble prickle at his skin. He makes sure to warm up his hands before touching Geonhak, because he knows Geonhak’s body runs hotter than his and he doesn’t want to startle Geonhak awake. More importantly, he doesn’t want Geonhak to realize the reason he seeks out Seoho’s touch so instinctively when he’s awake is because Seoho indulges him the most when Geonhak’s dreaming, deep in sleep and unaware of all the other ways Seoho wants to give in to him. 

He lets Geonhak visit the apartment, lets their lives overlap even more knowing it’s going to make everything complicated in a way that Seoho’s still afraid of because he can’t shake off the feeling he’s making some sort of invisible mistake that will eventually turn around to bite him. 

He lets Hwanwoong stare him in thinly veiled concern every time Geonhak steers too close into Seoho’s personal bubble, hooking his chin over Seoho’s shoulder as he watches Dongju nitpick at how Seoho’s making pizza, or blindly searching for Seoho’s waist with his hands so that he can stay close while Seoho tells Hwanwoong in the middle of crime drama episodes why his theories make zero sense. 

Seoho watches morning cartoons with Geonhak because he likes the way Geonhak’s whole face lights up in the heartwarming moments, and he enjoys them too even if he makes fun of Geonhak for having the same taste in shows as an elementary schooler. He fixes Geonhak’s watch whenever he notices it’s off balance so that Geonhak doesn’t have to, and carefully catalogues all the ones Geonhak already owns because he’s thinking of getting Geonhak another to add to his collection. 

He pretends he only stays so long at Geonhak’s place because the view is nice, when the only view that matters has always been Geonhak and Seoho hardly ever pays attention to what’s outside the clear glass windows. The coral and clementine paint strokes of sunsets dull in comparison to the way Geonhak laughs into Seoho’s chest, like he’s stolen the softest, cleanest clouds and used them to make up his voice and how he sounds when he’s happiest. 

Seoho tries to categorize how he feels about all the different sounds Geonhak makes and inevitably comes up short, because he likes them all in their own right. 

The soft yelling Geonhak resorts to whenever he’s annoyed but is going to behave according to Seoho’s wishes anyway. The laugh that Seoho can read between his words when Geonhak’s trying not to chuckle, and the solemn, low bass of his voice when he’s telling Seoho things that he maybe shouldn’t not because Seoho won’t keep Geonhak’s secrets safe, but because they make Seoho ache in his chest with something terrible and fond and pained long after those conversations are done. 

Worst of all, for sure, are the quiet, satisfied sighs Geonhak makes when Seoho’s fucking him open with three fingers and rewarding the stretch of discomfort with endless kisses to the base of Geonhak’s throat, because listening to them makes Seoho greedy for more when he should know better than anyone else to be afraid. 

Letting Geonhak get so close and take so much of him is a reprise in a song Seoho knows is eventually going to end, but he thinks... if he just closes his eyes and stops his mind from going on overdrive, he can pretend Geonhak’s extending the outro every time he drags his teeth along the nape of Seoho’s neck or leaves indented bites down Seoho’s pecs, completely and totally unaware of the way his heartbeat syncs up with Seoho’s own _badump, badump_ through where his chest is pressed to Seoho’s back. 

There’s no use in trying to pull away, Seoho decides, because no matter how far he runs, his heart is still going to be left behind in Geonhak’s care, and all he can do now is memorize over and over again the way Geonhak’s body heat bleeds into his skin, leaves a wake of liquid gold where there used to be just cold, bloodless blue. 

✧

“I have to attend a company event next weekend,” Geonhak says. 

“Is that code for you want another round?” Face tucked into his arms, Seoho stretches out leisurely on top of Geonhak’s sheets as he considers whether he has the energy. What he’s more sure of is that his soft spot for Geonhak is showing too much these days, and he should be sharper, harder about hiding it, but he hasn’t been. 

Geonhak laughs. Drops a kiss onto the lowest vertex of Seoho’s shoulder blade. 

“No,” he says, sinking his fingers into the thick, apricot curls of Seoho’s hair and scratching gently before he withdraws his hand, letting it travel lower. “I’m asking if you’d be willing to come with me.” 

Seoho stills. 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” Geonhak murmurs, but the drumming of his fingers at the dip of Seoho’s lower back suggests otherwise, a little too coaxing in nature to be coincidental. “I just thought…” 

Back before the accident, Seoho’s teammates had needed to fight tooth and nail for him to attend any events if they weren’t directly related to competing and practicing. Extraneous socializing and team bonding were never at the forefront of Seoho’s priorities, although looking back, maybe they should have been, instead of foolishly chasing adrenaline highs night after night with people who’d never had Seoho’s back as much as they were looking out for their own. 

“Do I have the manners to be taken to a function like that?” Seoho asks. 

He imagines there’s a lot of playing polite and purposeful, metaphorical stepping on toes involved, and Seoho doesn’t think he’s very good at that, after so long of letting the edges of his demeanor go rough and sharp. At the end of the day, Geonhak’s a much _nicer_ boy than anyone Seoho’s ever had the displeasure of meeting, old money or not, with a squeaky clean reputation to match, and bringing Seoho as a plus one seems like an odd move to make. But then again, Geonhak doesn’t seem to have much of an agenda with Seoho. 

Seoho wonders if he’ll end up running into anyone he used to know. He hopes not. 

“Believe me,” Geonhak says, “your manners are better than most.” 

“You think so highly of me.” Seoho huffs, amused. “I bite when threatened. Remember?” 

“I’m not that worried,” Geonhak replies, a smile playing at his lips, “considering you only bite for real in bed.” Bewildered, Seoho can only blink, eyelashes fluttering, and Geonhak laughs. “Besides, you won’t feel threatened because I’ll keep you company.” 

“I don’t remember agreeing yet,” Seoho says, but Geonhak doesn’t look even a little concerned about that technicality. 

“You can borrow one of my suits.” A pause, as his gaze slowly travels down Seoho’s body line. “Maroon would look good on you.” 

“You’re always eager to get me into your clothes,” Seoho says. He can’t tell if Geonhak’s possessive, or just persistently curious to see how his clothes drape over Seoho’s slightly slimmer build. Maybe both, considering Geonhak has the unfortunate habit of holding onto Seoho’s clothes longer than necessary, maybe stretching them out from how much he wears some of Seoho’s t-shirts. “I’d make a dog joke, but I haven’t thought of a good one yet.” 

“You don’t seem to mind wearing my clothes,” Geonhak says, ignoring Seoho’s attempt at provoking him. 

“As long as they don’t smell like dog—” Seoho yelps when Geonhak takes the bait the second time around and gets into his personal space, annoyed but clearly amused, kissing Seoho on the mouth to quiet his teasing. “This is not a mature way to handle conversations you don’t like.” 

“Be nice,” Geonhak says. “I always give you clean clothes, and I wear the cologne you like most on me.” 

“Oh,” Seoho says, something in his chest crackling, like pop rocks even though he hasn’t eaten them in years. He hadn’t noticed, but now that Geonhak mentions it… “Why?” 

“Why not?” Geonhak asks. “It makes you more agreeable.” 

Seoho lets the words sink in, processing them. “...Did you fucking Pavlov me with _cologne_?” 

“Maybe.” Geonhak grins. “Why? Are you going to take revenge?” 

Well, _yes._ Seoho wants to retaliate, but he also kind of forgets about it when Geonhak presses the pads of his fingers into the thickest part of Seoho’s shoulder, generously rolling out the knots that knit up Seoho’s muscles into a tense mess at the end of every week. 

“You’re not playing fair,” Seoho mumbles. Massages are something he gives into because they’re one of the rare ways he openly lets himself be coddled. 

It’s scary, that Geonhak’s probably picked up as many quirks and habits about him as he has about Geonhak, but also it’s a little _less_ scary because it’s Geonhak, and then Seoho puts an end to that train of thought because it’s always, always easier to pretend he can’t see where it leads him. 

“Was that ever a rule we agreed on?” Geonhak asks. “To play fair?” 

No, actually. They’ve never laid down boundaries, or rules, or objectives, so Seoho guesses they’re fucked. “I thought you were a gentleman, Geonhak—” 

“Not with you,” Geonhak replies. “You’re special.” 

“Or I’m just your punching bag—” Geonhak chooses that moment to unload all of his upper body weight onto the palm he’s pressed on Seoho’s back, and the discomfort knocks the breath right out of Seoho’s lungs, before Geonhak releases the pressure and relief seeps into what was originally a painstaking ache. 

“How’d you know?” Geonhak asks, but he drops a kiss to Seoho’s hair, then another at the shell of Seoho’s ear, and it makes heat ripple through the rest of Seoho’s body, like he’s been pulled underwater by a lake that refuses to let him go, making it difficult to catch his breath. 

✧

Seoho does get his revenge, two days later, by texting Geonhak a selfie that’s just about as blurry as the one Geonhak had sent when Seoho was in the library months before. 

The angle isn’t the best considering he takes it while lying down, but it doesn’t really matter. His abs are in shot, along with the faint trail of hairs that disappear below the waistband of his sweatpants and the diagonal ridge of his obliques, where Geonhak likes to hold Seoho with the junction of palm between his thumbs and index fingers. The top of the photo cuts off at bunched up cotton, since Seoho had pulled up the hem of his t-shirt with his mouth, leaving the dusty brown of his nipples partially in view but mostly obscured, just enough to indicate.

He’s not even really sure he’s going to send it until he’s standing in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing his hand through the unruly, orange creature nesting atop his head while scrolling through his phone aimlessly with the other one. 

He knows Geonhak’s in the middle of a lecture, and though the picture itself isn’t anything _too_ suggestive, he figures the novelty of it will be enough to draw at least some sort of visceral reaction from Geonhak’s end. 

_hope class goes well,_ he sends as the follow up caption to the image, before he deletes the original photo from his own camera roll. 

Less than a minute later, three successive messages come in, their drop down notifications forcing Seoho to pause the video he’s currently watching. 

**blondie:** _._

 **blondie:** _seoho what the FUCK_

The last message has no words, is just three full lines of a skull with crossbones emoji, repeated over and over again, and it makes Seoho laugh so hard he nearly drops his phone into the sink. 

When he’s got a firm grip on his phone again, he checks his reflection, and takes in the overgrown, dark roots of his hair that are now visible even if he’s not running his hands through it. The ends are dry, so he could use a trim, too. 

“Looks like pudding,” he mumbles to himself, with a small laugh. It’s probably time for a change.

He pulls up his message history with Keonhee. Their last exchange was a flurry of Tiktok links from Keonhee, all cute animal videos, some leaning on heart wrenching and painful to watch. Seoho bets Keonhee cried his eyes out like the healthy boy he is before shakily copy pasting Seoho the clip URLs through his blurry vision. 

_will u dye my hair for me, my favorite flamingo,_ Seoho types. _do u have time._

Keonhee’s reply comes less than five minutes later. He’s a decently early riser, unlike Hwanwoong, who can’t be expected to answer messages properly until noon. _What color ? Do you wanna trim it too?_

Seoho answers with a heart emoji in the color he wants, before he adds, _yes, trim too please_

 _A bit safe, but you’ll look good,_ is Keonhee’s answer. He continues with, _Buy me dinner and we can do it today!_

✧

“I like your hair this color,” Geonhak says, letting the soft, black strands of Seoho’s hair fan out between his thumb, index finger and middle finger. He’s said some variation of that same statement at least three times today, and each time, the approval in his voice is accompanied by him reaching out to touch like he has to make sure he’s not imagining Seoho’s curls have gone dark. 

He also hasn’t stopped staring since Seoho walked into his apartment, although it’s hard to figure out which part of Seoho is holding Geonhak’s attention so firmly, when there seems to be more than one point of interest. 

It could be the jeans that Seoho has finally replaced with a new pair, so dark in the freshness of dye that they barely catch any light. They’re from the same brand, same line, but some of the stitching at the seams has changed. Not that any of that matters when Geonhak is definitely paying more attention to the way Seoho’s thighs look when he strips out of the black denim, a shadow pooling around his pale feet as the stiff fabric lands on the floor. 

Or maybe it’s that Seoho’s in the midst of putting on one of Geonhak’s suits, blazer and slacks colored a burgundy that’s deep enough to pass as black until the sunlight hits it. Geonhak is patiently fixing the details and placing finishing touches, since he’s the one with experience wearing clothes like this, and Seoho nearly makes himself dizzy from trying to watch him because their faces are so close. 

_Black’s not a color,_ Seoho could say, just to set Geonhak off like a firecracker. Seoho doesn’t actually care about semantics all that much, and he generally doesn’t bother correcting people on small, insignificant technicalities unless it comes to dragging a violent reaction out of someone he knows won’t take the teasing to heart. 

Instead, he asks, “Better than the orange?” 

He grins at Geonhak when Geonhak’s eyes drop down to meet his, and they’re bright and captivating. They’re the same color as the flower honey Seoho’s mother makes to put in her herbal teas. Seoho complains about the tiny petals catching on his throat, but he loves holding up the jar where she stores it in natural light and seeing the way the translucent copper orange fades into a richer, more opaque amber brown. 

“I don’t know,” Geonhak says, even though it sounds like he does. “I haven’t decided.” He unbuttons another button on Seoho’s black dress shirt, considering. “You should go like this. Or with no shirt.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” Seoho says, brushing Geonhak’s hand off as he buttons his shirt up all the way. “Where’s the tie you want me to wear?” 

“Later,” Geonhak says. “I need to shave, and so do you.” 

Seoho ends up having to climb up to sit on Geonhak’s bathroom sink after Geonhak complains that he moves around too much, nearly hoisting Seoho up there himself when Seoho won’t stop fidgeting. 

It’s not really awkward, having Geonhak so close and slathering shaving cream onto his jaw. They spend so much time in each other’s space and in each other’s _faces_ that this just feels like another inevitable drop in the ocean of intimacy growing between them, although Seoho decides it’s best to focus on the consistent inhale and exhale of Geonhak’s concentration, or else he’ll succumb to less acceptable thoughts about what Geonhak looks like bent over this very counter, desperate for Seoho to give him what he wants. It doesn’t help, either, that Geonhak’s free hand is resting over Seoho’s thigh, stabilizing both of them, and his hips are sandwiched by the insides of Seoho’s knees, warmth spilling over through thin, tailored fabric and leaving Seoho restless at the constant contact between their bodies. 

Geonhak is using one of those straight edge razors that Seoho has eyed with some interest in the past but never with enough ignition to actually switch over from his established electric options. Seoho’s always been a fan of efficiency, and never completely at ease with direct blades, but it makes a lot of sense that Geonhak would be a stickler for things like this, when he insists on doing even the smallest tasks properly all the way through. _Old fashioned,_ Seoho likes to tease, instead of the much fonder _earnest_ he thinks to himself often though that he thinks the frequency is soon going to be at odds with his heartbeat. 

“You…” he starts, tentatively, as Geonhak uses his thumb and middle finger to gently tilt Seoho’s face upwards, so that he has a better angle to work with when he places the edge of the razor blade to Seoho’s skin. 

“I…?” 

“You breathe loudly,” Seoho says, doing his best not to move his facial muscles, and Geonhak takes the blade away before he laughs. 

“Shut up,” Geonhak says. He’s staring at Seoho’s mouth, like he wants to kiss it, but then he seems to realize it wouldn’t be ideal because he’ll just end up tasting shaving cream, with how messy he gets. Seoho imagines, and then remembers he doesn’t have to imagine, because he knows exactly how Geonhak’s five o’clock shadow feels against his skin. “I’m going to end up giving you a cut and you’re going to have to attend with a bandaid on your face.” 

“I’m putting my life in your hands, Geonhak,” Seoho says. “I hope you’re enjoying this momentary influx of power.” 

“I am,” Geonhak replies, dryly, but his hand is steady as he works his way across Seoho’s jaw, then chin, then the other side of Seoho’s face, rinsing the razor every so often so that he can start fresh.

Seoho doesn’t have anything to do with his hands, so he keeps them folded, not reaching out to touch Geonhak’s clothed waist even though his fingers keep uncurling reflexively like they’re about to give in to the lingering, ever present urge. 

“All done,” Geonhak says after what simultaneously feels like seconds but also an eternity. Seoho exhales freely, no longer having to worry about plane changes in his face affecting Geonhak’s blade placement. “Feel okay? I don’t think I missed any spots.” 

“I think my leg fell asleep,” Seoho lies, and Geonhak promptly smacks him on the thigh, hard enough to sting. “ _Ow._ ” 

“Not anymore,” Geonhak says with a laugh. “Wanna wash your face to rinse everything off?” 

Seoho feels a little like a doll by the time Geonhak’s finished getting both of them dressed. Geonhak’s even gone to the trouble of fastening one of his heavy watches around Seoho’s wrist, icy silver particularly eye-catching with the slight warmth of maroon in his suit to draw out the coolness of all the metal hardware on him, down to the buttons on his suit jacket and the buckle of his belt. 

When Geonhak steps back, he surveys Seoho, making an eventual noise of approval. “Wow,” he says, gaze growing more intent, and Seoho can feel an itch of embarrassment crawl up his spine at the laser scrutiny that usually only comes out when Geonhak’s been given the rare opportunity to push Seoho down and take him apart any way he wishes to. 

“What?” 

“I already knew you would clean up nice,” Geonhak says, “but I didn’t think it was going to be like this.” He seems even more pleased when Seoho just smiles, unable to reply for a few seconds before he changes the subject. 

“Is the watch necessary?” 

“It’s an important accessory,” Geonhak says. He gives a cursory glance to the watch on his own wrist, a weight he holds with practiced ease. “You don’t really wear them, though.” 

“They get in the way of me doing things,” Seoho says. 

“And rings don’t?” Geonhak smiles. 

Seoho licks his lips. “Touche.” It’s a matter of habit, he supposes, and what you’re used to or what you care about. “You look good.” 

The compliment makes Geonhak visibly perk up. It’s like he’s been waiting for some sort of assessment from Seoho all along. “Really?” 

“Don’t fish,” Seoho says, and Geonhak scrunches his nose. 

“Stingy,” he complains. Geonhak’s not as vain as say, Youngjo, but it’s obvious he enjoys the attention that comes with Seoho thinking he’s attractive. He catches Seoho watching him sometimes, and predictable as clockwork, he’ll tilt his head (metaphorical tail wagging as he does so) and ask Seoho what he’s looking at, or if Seoho likes what he sees. 

“It’s difficult to decide where to look,” Seoho admits, and Geonhak’s eyelashes flutter in surprise, “seeing as you have so many good features.” 

“Oh,” Geonhak says. He blinks even more rapidly, eyelashes more like hummingbird wings at this point. “Seoho…” 

“Oh shit, is that what breaks you?” Seoho laughs. “Me being nice?”

“You don’t usually come outright and say stuff so sweetly,” Geonhak says. “I think I’m going to have to sit down.” 

“Need some help with that?” and then Seoho generously shoves Geonhak onto the bed according to his wishes, delightedly watching the way Geonhak goes down with a loud yell. 

“You’re—” Geonhak’s face cycles through a myriad of expressions before it settles on a mix of flushed rage and barely contained laughter. “Unbelievable.” 

“Thank you!” 

“It’s not meant to be praise, asshole,” Geonhak says, and unrepentant, Seoho just giggles at him until Geonhak’s thawing out at the edges and laughing, too, before he yanks Seoho by the bicep onto the bed, on top of him. 

“Hey now,” Seoho says. Geonhak’s hands settle on his thighs, and Seoho suddenly becomes conscious of their position, careful not to shift too much. “I’m not the one who needed to sit down.” 

“You should, because I can’t stand you,” Geonhak jokes. As much as he hates it, Seoho can’t help laughing at the stretch of wordplay. 

“Oho,” Seoho replies, “you’re starting to sound like you can’t live without me.” 

“With long enough exposure, even the most annoying sound becomes white noise, right?”

“Is that how you put yourself to sleep, Blondie?” Seoho asks. “Finding comfort that at least you’ll be someone’s ambience—” 

“ _Fuck_ you.” 

“If you ask very, _very_ nicely—” 

The rest of the time they have left, they spend bickering. Geonhak resorts to pinning Seoho underneath him every time he can’t conjure a comeback fast enough, tickling Seoho’s sides and fogging up Seoho’s glasses until he’s satisfied with the damage he’s inflicted. 

Seoho expects Geonhak to call for a scheduled driver, but Geonhak doesn’t. He grabs his car keys when they’re preparing to leave, and turns back to look at Seoho with a raised eyebrow after Seoho makes a noise of surprise. “Hm?” 

“I didn’t know you were driving,” Seoho says. 

“Would you rather we take a taxi? A limo?” Geonhak asks, and Seoho shakes his head. It’s windy as they step out of Geonhak’s apartment, clouds moving slowly across the sky if Seoho stands very still and pinpoints where the cluster of white had started off in the left of his vision. 

He lets his hands retreat into the sleeves of the parka he’s wearing on top of his suit jacket. “I trust your driving,” Seoho tells Geonhak. “It’s better like this.” 

“Oh,” Geonhak says, face softening with understanding. “I see.” 

There’s traffic, which is to be expected, but Geonhak’s accounted for delays and Seoho amuses himself mostly by going through Geonhak’s playlists and listening to Geonhak complain about how he’s going to end up going hungry because they serve food portions meant for rabbits. 

Seoho doesn’t realize how much it’s helping him relax until he’s getting out of Geonhak’s car an hour and a half later, and there’s a new tension drawing his shoulders tight that only eases whenever Geonhak gets close and bumps their shoulders together. 

“Relax,” Geonhak says, running his thumb gently across the hollow of Seoho’s cheek when they’re waiting at the elevators. A few other people are waiting with them, also in gowns and suits, but they’re all looking at their phones or making small talk with each other. 

“I’m so relaxed,” Seoho says, and the complete lack of conviction in his voice makes Geonhak laugh. 

“The people I’ll be talking to generally will be nice, and well meaning,” Geonhak says. “You just have to stand there and look pretty.” 

“I resent the strong implication that I’m a trophy date,” Seoho says. 

“What else would you be?” Geonhak stage-whispers, pulling his foot up for his own safety when Seoho makes a move to step on it. “You’re not here to make vapid, flowery connections.” 

“You’re right,” Seoho says, as he adjusts his glasses. He’s also not here to run into old, familiar faces, but he supposes he’ll leave it up to chance. 

The function is about as interesting as watching paint dry without being allowed to touch it, filled with a lot of long winded speeches as everyone picks at their plates and waits for the next course to arrive. Geonhak is right about the rabbit-sized food portions, but Seoho’s not sure he’d want to stuff himself full either when he’d rather hold onto the clarity that comes with being a little hungry. 

He’s more surprised by how much Geonhak looks in his element, long after dessert has been served and finished, making his rounds with people who brighten as soon as they catch sight of his approach and draw him into conversation before he can land somewhere else. 

It’s definitely not like watching paint dry, because Geonhak is pleasant and gracious and clearly a delight, none of which are new to Seoho as _qualities_ even if the angle which they’ve been presented has changed. It makes Geonhak feel a little far away, a thought that Seoho doesn’t particularly want to linger on and doesn’t have to because Yubin winds up in their orbit. 

She’s dressed in a long black gown, blue hair styled to curl away from her face but still frame it. “Seoho!” she calls out, in a tone warmer than Seoho expects. They’ve only met a few times, after all, but she seems excited to see him. “So Geonhak did end up bringing you.” 

_Geonhak did end up bringing you_ makes it sound like Geonhak had put a significant amount of thought into asking Seoho to come with him. Puzzling. Seoho files the information away for later. 

“Yes,” Seoho says, the same time that Geonhak mumbles, “ _Yubin,_ ” with a level of urgency that only seems to amuse Yubin more. 

Seoho chews at his bottom lip, realizing it’s dry. He hasn’t brought lip balm with him, so he’ll have to leave it alone for the rest of the event. 

“Geonhak must have wanted to see you at his best, bringing you here,” Yubin says, when Geonhak is momentarily distracted talking to an older man with a salt and pepper beard. “With you, he’s usually…” 

“Noisy? Short tempered?” Seoho jokes, and Yubin laughs. 

“Freer,” she says, instead, and for a split second, it feels like all the air rushes out of Seoho’s lungs. “But yes, he’s more well behaved now.” 

“He’s always well behaved, actually,” Seoho replies. “More than me, even.” 

“Oh,” Yubin says, as if something’s clicked. “You like him for real.” 

“What?” 

“As a person, I mean,” Yubin says. “You like his personality.” 

Seoho frowns. “Would I have agreed to come to something like this if I didn’t?” 

“Plenty of people choose to spend time together without liking each other very much,” Yubin says carefully. A blue lock of hair falls in front of her eyes, and when she brushes it back, her expression is filled with something more open as she watches him. “Well, that’s good to hear. Geonhak needs someone who likes him for him.” 

“Doesn’t he already…” Seoho licks his lips and trails off, unsure of what else she’s going to read in his casual admissions of his personal observation about Geonhak. “I see.” 

She smiles pleasantly despite Seoho’s unfinished sentence, and changes the subject. “You’d think the snacks here would be top tier but I feel like their catering plans fell through at the last minute.” 

“Ah,” Seoho says, with an almost relieved laugh. “Really?” 

“Yes,” Yubin says, with a glint in her eye, as she starts explaining that usually they rotate between two of the most well known bakeries until the organization behind these functions started an exclusive contract with a bakery that’s, in her opinion, _subpar—_

She keeps him company until Geonhak returns, which is when Seoho notices what she’s been doing because she excuses herself shortly after. “I’m going to go use the restroom,” Seoho tells Geonhak. 

Concerned, Geonhak asks, “Do you want me to come with you?” 

“I’ll figure it out, no worries,” Seoho says. 

The restroom is on a different floor, requiring a trip through the elevator and a bit of navigating, but Seoho doesn’t take long to find it. 

On his return trip, he nearly bumps into someone who’s rounding the corner too fast, and Seoho’s reflexes are fast enough that he moves out of the direct line of collision, but their shoulders still hit. 

“Sorry,” the man says, stopping in his tracks, and Seoho snaps his head up to look at who’s addressing him. That voice is... “I was careless. Did I scare you?” 

“A little,” Seoho says, and Juyeon offers him an apologetic smile. 

It’s pure reflex to trace the curves of his features, polished and flawless in a way that seems to measure up against even symmetry standards, and he doesn’t look anything different from what Seoho remembers other than his hair being a bit longer, cheeks a little sunken in from slight weight loss. Seoho doesn’t realize how long he’s been staring until Juyeon clears his throat, cutting through the silence. 

“Well, I should—” 

“Is meeting an old teammate and friend that uncomfortable of an experience for you?” Juyeon asks. He shifts his weight, and it’s a deceptively languid but fluid movement. He’s the same way in how he dances. Seoho’s always admired that about him. 

“No,” Seoho says, with a quiet exhale sigh that Juyeon definitely catches. Juyeon is never anything less than pleasant, but he’s always a kicked puppy in front of Seoho. “You know that’s not what I mean.” 

“I certainly hope so,” Juyeon says. He crosses his arms, clearly meaning to stay for a while. “Sometimes I can't be sure because you just smile through everything.” The delivery is nonchalant, but it makes guilt trickle into Seoho’s chest regardless.

Juyeon had caught him at a bad time, when wounds were still fresh and Seoho was still _angry_ at everyone and everything and himself, determined to seal his heart away and throw it to the bottom of the ocean where no one could ever recover it. 

“Juyeon—”

Juyeon smiles again, easy forgiveness as always. “Geonhak left you alone to fend for yourself?” 

Inklings of questions, more than one, make it difficult for Seoho to pick the best way to respond. Juyeon must have known Seoho was here, even before they’d run into each other. 

Seoho settles for asking, “You know Geonhak?” 

“Yeah,” Juyeon says. “We went to the same dance academy for a few years, but I guess he quit after high school.”

“I didn’t know that.” Seoho hadn’t. It explains why, even when they play-fight, Geonhak is so careful with avoiding grabbing Seoho in ways that might hurt him for real, and why sometimes it feels like Geonhak traces the steps to Hwanwoong’s choreography videos with an oddly intuitive eye. 

“Really? I thought…” Juyeon blinks at him, intrigued as he trails off. His expression turns a little playful as he thinks of something else. “Back then he was a lot tinier, did you know?” 

“Tinier?” 

“He’s probably gotten rid of all the photos online,” Juyeon says. “But he was super small and cute.” 

Geonhak is _still_ very cute, Seoho thinks, because his temper is short but he’s never scary, and he’s so easily swayed with just a few sweet words if they’re the right ones. 

“Do you have any saved?” Seoho asks. “You should send them to me.” He can already picture Geonhak’s mortification just at the mention of Seoho having seen his younger, softer photos, and Juyeon lets out a loud laugh the moment he sees the distinct change in Seoho’s attitude. 

“Still a menace, I see,” Juyeon says. “Some things never change. I’ll see what I can find.” 

They continue their conversation outside where there’s less noise and less distractions, after Seoho sends a quick text to Geonhak letting him know he’ll take a while getting back. It’ll be easier to catch up with Juyeon without Geonhak, who probably won’t mind anyways. 

Juyeon takes a smoke, raising an eyebrow curiously when Seoho declines joining him. 

“Is that a recent development?” Juyeon asks, putting his current pack away after confirming Seoho’s fine with him smoking in front of Seoho. “Geonhak…?”

“I quit shortly after the accident,” Seoho says. Fixing habits of self-destructive behavior had started off as a way to make Hwanwoong and Youngjo stop worrying about him, but it’s funny that the lifestyle adjustments eventually became set in stone. “Nothing to do with Geonhak, though I’m sure he would have had an opinion about it.” 

“Maybe I should quit too,” Juyeon says, tousling his hair with the hand that’s not holding a cigarette. “I could make Jaehyun and Younghoon quit with me. It’s money down the drain anyways.” Only now does Seoho notice there are two rings on his hand, both clearly part of matching sets. 

“Jaehyun seems like he’d have a hard time breaking the habit,” Seoho says. “Do you all live together now?” 

“Yeah,” Juyeon says, brightening up at Seoho showing interest beyond hums of acknowledgement. “It’s nice. I’ve gotten better at cooking because I’m no longer just making food for myself.” 

“I’m glad you’re living your best lovey dovey domestic life, Juyeon,” Seoho says, as he holds back a smile. “No need to broadcast the hearts coming out of your eyes.” 

“Like you even care,” Juyeon says. “You’ve never been in the headspace to want a relationship, anyways. If you were, I’d have ended up making dinner for you everyday instead.” 

“Very sweet of you,” Seoho says. “Good thing you found boyfriends who are actually worth your time, right?” 

“That’s not how life works, or relationships,” Juyeon says with an undercurrent of obvious disapproval. It’s heavy but not demanding, which Seoho is grateful for. “You’re still really cynical.” 

“Am not.” Seoho laughs at Juyeon’s doubtful look. He’s improved a lot in terms of faith, trust issues and clamming up tendencies aside. “There’s no point in domesticating wild animals because they’ll just bite you, right?” 

“You were never wild,” Juyeon says, before his voice goes thoughtful and _knowing,_ “but even then, it seems like Geonhak did a good enough job.” 

“I have no idea what you mean.” 

“I saw you two in the parking lot before you went inside,” Juyeon says. “You like riling him up, just to soothe him again.” 

Seoho had been chasing away nerves about uncertainty, and judgment, and fitting in the exact way he needed to. Annoying Geonhak enough that he started using his outside voice with Seoho was a good way to get the extra energy out of both of their systems. 

It’s also...well, being in public always has its drawbacks, but Seoho never quite expects for the people who see him and how he acts with Geonhak to also _know_ him. He couldn’t care less about what strangers think, but Juyeon? Juyeon’s not a stranger. 

“At first, I thought you’d come with June, or someone from the same crowd.” Juyeon continues when Seoho doesn’t say anything. “I’m glad that wasn’t the case.” 

The thought of potentially running into June, of all people...Seoho’s stomach goes sour at it, but he’d be able to handle it. Better than June, at least, and that’s all he needs, ultimately. 

“Does he come to functions like this often?”

Juyeon shakes his head. “It’s not like he’s a social butterfly, and what connections he does have are all built out of intimidation. Sometimes I see his older brother or his parents, but never him.”

Seoho laughs, and hopes it doesn’t sound too bitter. 

“You know,” Juyeon says, “general opinion always fell in your favor after the accident, despite the rumors.” 

“I don’t know about that,” Seoho says. 

“It’s just that June iced out everyone who could have reached out to comfort you,” Juyeon says. “He was afraid of losing control and losing face, and he could only keep those things with his money.” He crushes the lit end of his cigarette until it goes dark, and discards of it in a nearby ashtray. “Not that it matters, but he’s been fucking miserable after you guys broke up.” 

_Good_ , Seoho thinks, but he aims for something a little more diplomatic. “That sucks.” 

“It’s okay to say what you actually think, Seoho,” Juyeon says, and Seoho wishes that were true, in his mind, but he’s afraid that if he starts being honest, all the rest of the things he’s never wanted to say out loud will tumble out of him too and then there really will be no end to it. “Honestly, you were so uptight after you’d recovered enough to come back to school—” 

“Physical therapy doesn’t bring results that fast,” Seoho deadpans, and Juyeon nudges him, a gentle brush of knuckles against Seoho’s sleeve more than anything else. 

“It was hard to look at you,” Juyeon says. “I kept wondering if you would just snap one day.” 

“You must be proud then,” Seoho replies, breezily, “to see that I’m as charming as ever, and not made of peanut brittle.” 

Juyeon snorts. “You’re still a little fragile at the edges,” he says, and Seoho inhales sharply. It’s terrible that Juyeon’s right even if Seoho’s never going to admit it to his face. “I was relieved to see you came with Geonhak, though.” 

“Relieved? Why?” 

“Either you were here with a walking dumpster fire of a human being,” Juyeon explains, “or you were with Geonhak, the kind of boy you take home to meet your parents and they like him so much they end up adopting him and kick you out.” 

“That’s true,” Seoho says. It’s not the sort of thing he’s ever pictured happening for more reasons than one, but Geonhak is very much long term, _keeping_ material. If things were easier… “I’m safe, though, since he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Maybe you should double check with him about that,” Juyeon says, and Seoho’s heart lurches up to his throat, “because you’re dressed to his tastes, and you’re wearing his watch and a custom tie of his that alone probably costs more than my suit.” 

It’s not that Seoho hadn’t been aware of what Geonhak was doing when he was playing dress up to his heart’s delight with Seoho, but hearing an outsider’s perspective and having it match everything Seoho’s been ignoring out of convenience is…

“Are you having a silent breakdown?” Juyeon asks, sensing Seoho’s barely contained panic. “You look like you’re going to overheat from thinking too hard.” 

“I’m reconsidering my life decisions,” Seoho says, and Juyeon laughs. 

“Surely you didn’t think he just brought you here on a whim,” Juyeon says. 

“I mean, it’s not like I’ve had to talk to anyone important—” 

“People who know to look for the right signs will know you’re important to him,” Juyeon says. “I assume that’s why he brought you here. He’s pretty low profile actually, but well respected because of his personality and his family.” 

“I don’t think Geonhak is…” Seoho doesn’t know, actually, whether Geonhak is the type to make intricate plans and go this far. 

For better or for worse, he’d indirectly forced Seoho to confront his feelings by closing the distance between them just when Seoho was trying to pull it farther apart, and it’s not like Seoho actually knows how much of it was scheming on Dongju’s end and how much was Geonhak’s active participation. That leaves a knot twisted at the bottom of Seoho’s stomach, even if it’s not all unpleasant. 

“Do you want my opinion?” 

“Sure,” Seoho says, as his phone buzzes in his pocket. 

“You should let yourself like him,” Juyeon says. “And then you should keep him.” 

“Step one, step two,” Seoho says. If only. “Is it that simple?” 

Juyeon rolls his lower lip under his front teeth. “It can be.” 

“People are scary,” Seoho says, after a long pause of deliberation over whether he should play dumb or be honest for once, and he chooses the latter. Juyeon nods. He understands, because he knows what Seoho’s been through even if he hadn’t seen the full extent of it, knows that Seoho had gone from skittish to plain out terrified of all the ways life could go wrong. “I don’t like fucking up. I’ve done it enough.” 

“It sucks that your life lessons were more explosive than most people’s,” Juyeon says, and it’s all Seoho can do to try and calm his pulse so that it slows down to something normal. He really had hated how much residence his name had started taking up in people’s mouths after the accident, and he still checks to see whether people recognize him sometimes if he notices them staring for too long, assuming the worst. “It doesn’t mean you’re less deserving of a chance at happiness, especially because I know what kind of person you are, and you’ve always just been…” 

Seoho looks up at Juyeon, then, when he trails off. “Been…?” 

“You’re just Seoho,” Juyeon finishes, with a smile that’s so caring, so sincere it makes Seoho ache in all sorts of ways. “Seoho, who loves to tease and wears kind intentions on his sleeve, but never his heart because he’s afraid to break it again by loving too much.”

“You’re so…” Seoho’s phone buzzes in his pocket again, and he mindlessly turns it to silent. “Where do you get words like that.” 

“From my heart,” Juyeon says, in a teasing tone of voice. “You should try that sometime. Letting your heart lead.” 

“I’ve already got so many problems without trying that,” Seoho says. “It would only give me more of them.” If he doesn’t use his head and lay down everything with iron logic, it leaves room for error. People like him don’t have _room for error._

“Some things are worth the trouble, right?” Juyeon says. “Like you showing up to Hwanwoong’s dance performances even though you know you’ll run into people you don’t want to talk to.” He nudges Seoho in the leg with his knee. “And the little succulent housewarming gift a couple months back was from you, wasn’t it?” 

Seoho gapes at him. “That’s…” 

“Younghoon and Hwanwoong aren’t great liars, no matter how much you try to train them,” Juyeon says. He’s not even being smug about it, so Seoho doesn’t have the ammunition to draw up something mean to say. “Plus, it was prickly like you, and you like leaving little bits of yourself with people. A protection charm.” 

“I’ve been betrayed,” Seoho says, and Juyeon laughs. 

“All I’m saying is you do make exceptions, Seoho. You could afford to make a few more.” 

“Don’t you…” Seoho shakes his hair out of his eyes as a habit before he realizes they were never bothering him to begin with. 

He finally does look at his phone, dipping its orientation to see the lock screen light up with several calls and texts from Geonhak. “We should probably head back inside.” 

“I’ve kept you away for too long,” Juyeon says. “Geonhak might chew me out.” 

“He’s too polite for that,” Seoho says, fiddling with Geonhak’s watch and making sure it’s centered properly. The weight of it on his wrist feels a little bit like an anchor, or maybe more like Geonhak’s fingers wrapping around Seoho’s forearm whenever he wants Seoho’s attention. 

“Or he’ll chew _you_ out for leaving him alone,” Juyeon says, after watching Seoho adjust the watch for a long moment. “You respect him.” 

“Of course I do,” Seoho says, with no hesitation. “He’s…” He belatedly realizes he’s answered too fast when he meets Juyeon’s eyes, and Juyeon’s smiling at him. 

“That already says a lot, don’t you think?” Juyeon says, and Seoho just slides his phone back in his pocket as he follows Juyeon towards the door, not disagreeing. 

Juyeon turns out to be right about Geonhak chewing Seoho out, because as soon as he steps back onto the seventeenth floor where the function is being held, Geonhak is waiting right outside the elevators, brow furrowed with impatience. He locks in on Seoho almost immediately, and then Juyeon, frown on his face deepening when he recognizes who Seoho’s with. 

“Borrowed Seoho for a bit,” Juyeon says when they get close enough. “Hope you don’t mind.” 

“That’s fine,” Geonhak says, hand already settling at the small of Seoho’s back, light but almost purposeful. “I just didn’t know if Seoho got held up and needed...” 

“Rest assured I didn’t pester Seoho for too long,” Juyeon says. “I just wanted to catch up with him for a few minutes.”

“I didn’t know you smoke,” is the first thing Geonhak says to Seoho after Juyeon excuses himself. 

“I don’t,” Seoho says. He sees the slight arch of Geonhak’s eyebrow, unconvinced, and sighs as he adds, “I used to though. I’ve quit for a while.” He looks down at his clothes, eyes widening once he remembers what he’s wearing. “Is this about the suit, because—” 

“No, nothing like that,” Geonhak replies, “it’s just...there’s so much I don’t know about you.” 

“I don’t advertise the bad habits I’ve given up,” Seoho says, unsure where the flatness of Geonhak’s voice is coming from. Geonhak doesn’t seem to be judging, but he’s not exactly happy either. “Isn’t that natural?” 

“It makes sense when you say it like that,” Geonhak says. The tension in his brow releases, a little, but his expression remains pensive. “I also didn’t realize you were on such good terms with Juyeon.” 

“We were close, before I quit dance,” Seoho says. 

“Right,” Geonhak says. “Dance.” He looks like he wants to ask a question, and Seoho sighs, thinks about the word _exceptions._

“What is it, Geonhak?” 

Geonhak shifts his weight over to his other hip, and Seoho finds himself trying to dissect the ease with which Geonhak does it, searching for remnants of muscle memory that suggests Geonhak at one point was used to being in constant motion. “Is it hard to talk to people you were close to before your…” 

“Sometimes,” Seoho says. If they weren’t in a room full of people, he’d consider loosening Geonhak’s tie to see if it makes the rest of Geonhak relax. “It depends on how they’re looking at me.” 

Geonhak stops staring at a patch of Seoho’s suit, lifts his gaze to Seoho’s eyes in an unspoken question. 

“I don’t like it when they’re searching for bits and pieces of who I used to be,” Seoho says. “Or when they act like I’m suddenly less approachable because of all the terrible things they’ve heard and believed about how I got hurt.” 

“How does Juyeon look at you then?” 

Seoho blinks. “Sorry?” 

“You don’t mind him,” Geonhak says. He’s back to focusing his vision somewhere between Seoho’s tie and collar. “You weren’t in a hurry to get away from him. It seemed like...” 

“Are you upset, or something?” Seoho says. If he didn’t know better, he’d assume Geonhak was jealous. “I didn’t think I left you alone for that long, but I’m here now aren’t I?” 

“Yes, you are,” Geonhak says, begrudgingly, and then he’s pulling lightly at Seoho’s wrist, keeping a loose enough hold that Seoho can slip out from his grasp if he wants to. “Come with me for a bit?” 

Seoho lets himself be led down a hallway, then two, three more turns of the same blue carpeted flooring and floral wallpaper that makes him feel like a rat trapped in a maze. Away from the elevators, through a stairwell behind a door marked _authorized personnel only._

He doesn’t realize what’s happening until Geonhak pulls him into an empty room on a different floor, a simple square layout that looks like it’s typically used for meetings, and hears the click of Geonhak locking the door. 

“Geonhak?” 

Geonhak’s so _close_ , and he’s nuzzling at Seoho’s jaw. “I really don’t like the way cigarette smoke smells on you,” he mumbles, pulling back to look at Seoho directly. 

“You probably wouldn’t like the way it smells on other people either,” Seoho teases, and a muscle in Geonhak’s face twitches, effectively making Seoho forget the rest of the retort. He hadn’t realized Geonhak was actually that bothered, and the uncertainties and unknowns of everything he’s heard from other people today swirl in his stomach, upsetting and confusing as ever. 

“It’s less about the smell,” Geonhak says. “It’s about your…” he sounds lost, before he starts again. “I wish it didn’t feel like you were boxing yourself in all the time. Or keeping me out.” 

“I’m not,” Seoho says. “You know more about me than you think you do.” It’s true, and it’s a terrifying realization that sinks into Seoho with sharper claws when he verbalizes it, but Geonhak doesn’t seem to believe him or at least focus on it at the moment. 

“What did you and Juyeon talk about?” 

From the forlorn way Geonhak’s looking at him, Seoho can tell there are about fifty questions behind that one. He’s reminded of the doubt that shows in Geonhak’s face every time Seoho dodges serious curiosity by flipping the viewpoint of their conversations, deflecting until Geonhak has no option but to give up. 

“Well,” Seoho says, “you, actually—”

He doesn’t get the rest of his answer out because Geonhak chooses then to loosen Seoho’s tie and use it as leverage to pull Seoho in for an open mouthed kiss. His lips are hot, desperate against Seoho’s skin, and he doesn’t break the kiss when he lets go of Seoho’s tie to slide both hands underneath Seoho’s ass and lift him onto the counter by the window. 

“Geonhak. We’re in _public_ ,” Seoho hisses, as Geonhak grinds up against him. He’s a bit taken aback by the aggressiveness especially considering where they are, but most of it is surprise at what Geonhak has initiated. Geonhak will watch Seoho’s movements, typically, hover and put his hands somewhere on Seoho’s waist as an anchor, but he’s always been able to wait until they’re in the privacy of his apartment. “You’re being—”

“But I want you,” Geonhak says, petulantly, and that’s all it takes for what little remains of Seoho’s common sense to fly out the window, resolve replaced with heavy, buzzing want that starts to crawl all over his skin before it pools and concentrates at the pit of his stomach. “I won’t...just hands are okay, right?” 

He licks his lips, staring at Seoho expectantly and waiting. _This is so stupid,_ Seoho thinks to himself, because they could get walked in on by anyone at literally any moment and yet he’s still seriously considering how far he’ll let Geonhak go with doing as he pleases. 

Sighing, Seoho nods. “Fine, but hurry, okay?” and he clutches at the edge of the counter when Geonhak pushes maroon fabric away, undoing the buttons on the lower half of Seoho’s dress shirt and pushing the material as high up as it can go. His hands cover so much of Seoho, and it’s obvious he’s paying attention to that as much as Seoho is, from the way he spreads his fingers out across pale skin and tiny moles and dimpled muscle, admiring the perimeter of his reach. 

“You’re so pretty,” Geonhak says. He palms Seoho through his pants, kissing Seoho sloppily on the corner of the mouth when Seoho grinds up into the touch. 

With his other hand still groping at the expanse of Seoho’s chest, Geonhak works all too quickly to get Seoho out of his pants, or at least past his fly. He spits into his palm to ease the otherwise dry, rough slide of his hand around Seoho’s cock, and the crude display is so unlike him that Seoho helplessly gets harder in his touch, which earns him a noise from Geonhak low in the back of his throat even as he continues to kiss Seoho. 

Eventually he breaks his mouth away from Seoho’s and looks down at where he’s jerking Seoho off, their foreheads still pressed together. He makes sure to catch every bead of precum, dragging the dampness down evenly and letting Seoho get slicker between them with every tug until it’s all Seoho can hear in between Geonhak’s harsh breaths. 

“You’re so wet,” Geonhak murmurs into Seoho’s ear, playing with the head of Seoho’s cock and fitting it in between his index and middle finger. His own clothed cock rests warm and heavy against Seoho’s thigh, and the most he’s done to indulge himself is rut a little against the thickness of muscle every time Seoho whines too loud and turns even redder. “Are you in a hurry? Or are you into this?” 

“Geonhak, _Geonhak,”_ Seoho says, feeling the approaching drag of friction tighten and curl in a way that means it’s going to release soon. It’s good that he’s so close because it means less time to get caught, it _feels_ good, but he doesn’t want to make a mess. “Stop—“ 

“You know how I said only hands?” Geonhak asks, and Seoho lets out a pained, half hysterical noise, because he knows what Geonhak wants to do. “I changed my mind.” A kiss to the side of Seoho’s neck, a lick at Seoho’s pulse from where it’s nearly bursting through the skin before he’s lowering himself to suck the crown of Seoho’s cock into his mouth. 

It doesn’t take much after that, seeing Geonhak in his expensive clothes and gelled hair and broken down composure sucking him off with dark, bitten lips and moaning with every minute shift of Seoho in his mouth for Seoho to spill down Geonhak’s throat. Geonhak massages at Seoho’s hip as Seoho shakes and whimpers his way through the strongest waves of his orgasm, hips pitching up and then getting pushed back down with the weight of Geonhak’s arms. 

“Fuck,” Seoho says, when he pushes at Geonhak’s jaw insistently and Geonhak lets Seoho’s cock fall out of his mouth, lips wet with more than spit. He can feel his pulse stuttering in his thigh, rushing through his ears, in the heave of his chest as he struggles to catch his breath. “Geonhak, let me—” 

Not letting Seoho finish, Geonhak stands up and kisses the corner of Seoho’s mouth. Seoho tastes himself as Geonhak starts buttoning his shirt for him, putting back into place everything he’d taken apart just minutes before. “It’s okay.”

“What?” Seoho’s hands are significantly less steady as he tucks himself away, fixing the rumpled mess of his briefs and slacks until they’re mostly presentable, focusing on the coldness of his belt buckle to ground himself in the daze of post-orgasm. “Don’t you want me to help you?” 

“I just wanted…” Geonhak adjusts himself, too, so that his erection is less obvious through the silhouette of his pants before he takes a step back. “I just wanted you.” His lips quirk, twist into something Seoho can’t read. Satisfaction? “Maybe later, we can…” 

“If you could wait, why did you insist on _this_ ,” Seoho says. 

“I don’t always think things through,” Geonhak chuckles, sheepishly swiping his tongue across the insides of his teeth like he’s cleaning what he can, and despite his annoyance, Seoho’s mouth goes dry at the reminder of where Geonhak’s mouth has been. “But I do my best.” 

“Some of that self preservation should have kicked in before you shoved me into a room where we could have been walked in on by anyone.” 

“This floor isn’t used that often,” Geonhak says. “We would probably be fine even if you wanted to fuck me right now.” The corner of his mouth twists. “Multiple times.” 

Seoho’s jaw clenches at the hypothetical, and there must be something in his expression Geonhak likes, because he kisses the tip of Seoho’s nose, laughing when Seoho’s whole face scrunches in distaste. “You can go back first.” 

“Give me your car keys,” Seoho says, and Geonhak laughs harder. “You can walk back home by yourself.” 

“You have a car driver’s license?” Geonhak asks. 

“Yes,” Seoho says. “Did you think I didn’t?” 

“With the way you talked about driving, I wasn’t sure,” Geonhak says. 

“I prefer not to, but I will if it means keeping menaces like Hwanwoong off the road,” Seoho says. “He drives fine, actually, but all of his reflexes went to dance and every other basic skill in his life suffers because of it.” 

Seoho thinks Geonhak is going to corner him again when they get back to Geonhak’s apartment, but Geonhak is quiet as they take off their shoes, putting a hand to Seoho’s hip so that Seoho doesn’t lose his balance. 

Geonhak had been quiet all throughout the rest of the function, and they’d only stayed long enough for the sun to set and see the city view turn into a captivating grid of twinkling lights on a backdrop of velvet darkness. He hadn’t touched Seoho, but he’d kept close as if trying to replace Seoho’s shadow, and Seoho had been able to see Geonhak’s form in the reflection of the glass windows that spanned from the ceiling to the ground. Overlapped with the carved contours of distant mountains and lights persistent in their artificial glow even through the mild fog, Geonhak had looked like the fleeting, ever shifting facets at the bottom of a kaleidoscope. 

“Seoho.” Geonhak’s breath is hot against the nape of Seoho’s neck. He’s not crowding Seoho with the rest of his body, though, so it’s probably unintentional. 

Seoho moves his pair of black Oxfords to one of the empty spots on the shoe rack, noting all the space that Geonhak has taken to leaving for him, instead of using it as actual storage for his own shoes, a large part of which are in his closet, in his bedroom. “Hm?”

“What did you and Juyeon talk about?” From behind Seoho, Geonhak drops his keys onto the small, black minimalist table by the door. 

“Didn’t you ask me that already?” Seoho feels sweat-sticky and tired in more ways than one, but Geonhak seems content to lounge in the foyer and work on drawing more answers out of him. Seoho can tell Geonhak’s staring, waiting for Seoho to volunteer more information, and he sighs. “What’s the fixation on Juyeon? What do you want to know exactly?” 

“Were you dating, at some point?” 

“No,” Seoho says, turning around to look at Geonhak. “We might have, if I was in a better place emotionally, but no.” 

“Oh,” Geonhak says. There’s a bit of wonder in his voice, like he’s surprised Seoho answered him so directly, and Seoho gives him a small smile. 

“He told me you went to the same dance academy as him for a while, and that you were very cute and tiny.” 

Geonhak gives Seoho a bewildered look. “Huh?”

“Didn’t you want to know what we talked about?” Seoho arches an eyebrow. “I wasn’t kidding when I said we talked about you for most of it, but I guess you were too busy trying to get your hands on my dick.” 

Geonhak makes a strangled noise of embarrassment. “I was—” he collects himself. “I did go to the same dance academy as him.” It’s layered with too many undercurrents and fragments of whatever he’s feeling for Seoho to interpret it with any real conviction. 

He does look, however, a little like someone’s gone through his cardboard box of secrets in his heart and torn it apart. Seoho only recognizes it because he’s so well acquainted with the discomfort of being unable to shield himself from innocent curiosity and prying eyes. He doesn’t want Geonhak to feel stripped down against his will, but he’d rather Geonhak know right off the bat that he knows this part of Geonhak’s past, even if it’s only vaguely. 

“Did you not want me to find out?” Seoho asks. 

“I wasn’t actively hiding it,” Geonhak says, carefully. He looks small, and uncomfortable, even though Seoho knows for a fact Geonhak is wide enough to cover him entirely if he pulls Seoho into him for a hug, which makes it all the more unpleasant to see Geonhak this way. “It’s just something that didn’t work out for me.” 

Seoho knows how that goes. 

“What about your old pictures then,” he asks, and Geonhak’s eyes flicker to him in surprise, not having expected Seoho to steer the conversation in that direction. “Am I allowed to see them?” 

“That’s all you’re going to ask?” 

Seoho shrugs. He doesn’t like being offered information if it’s not given freely, and he figures Geonhak had a reason for not wanting to talk about it. “I could make Juyeon send me some,” Seoho says, pursing his lips thoughtfully. “But you would rather I ask you first, right?” 

Geonhak scratches at the back of his neck as he thinks about it. “If I show you a few, will you still ask Juyeon to send you the ones he can find?” 

“I don’t know, it depends on how embarrassing the ones you show me are,” Seoho says, with a smirk that seems to simultaneously relax Geonhak and put him on edge. “It seems better to get a comprehensive view of what young Geonhak used to look like.” 

“Your personality is terrible, even if your threats are empty,” Geonhak says. “I might as well just let Juyeon do whatever he likes.” 

“Probably,” Seoho agrees, walking further into the apartment as he begins undoing the straps of the watch around his wrist and unknotting his tie. “But I’m sure I’ll enjoy seeing your pictures twice and watching your embarrassment live.” 

Twenty minutes later, Seoho comes out of the shower expecting Geonhak to be in bed, resting his eyes, but Geonhak isn’t even in the room. 

It’s quiet in a way he isn’t used to, and Seoho examines remnants of black polish on his nails he hadn’t been able to remove entirely earlier this morning, before eventually reaching out to grab the change of clothes Geonhak’s laid out for him on top of the duvet. 

When he steps out of Geonhak’s bedroom, in an oversized shirt that ends mid-thigh on him and clutching his phone in his hand as he dries his hair with a small towel, he finds Geonhak sitting out at the dining table, pensive. 

“Blondie,” Seoho calls. Geonhak glances at him, and the lilt of Seoho’s voice falters, tapers into something more unsure because Geonhak has never looked at him like that before. “Why are you out here by yourself?”

Then he notices what’s on the table, in front of Geonhak’s clasped hands, and pales. 

“This fell out of your jacket when I was cleaning and moving stuff around,” Geonhak says. He cautiously, gently slides the brand new wristwatch over to the other side of the table where Seoho’s standing, like Seoho might need a closer look to recognize it. He doesn’t. “I didn’t mean to.” 

Seoho lets his eyes fall to the ticking second hand, a needle’s width of warm gold traveling clockwise on a dark, coffee toned dial. 

8:39. 

The watch has been sitting in Seoho’s pocket for weeks, if he’s keeping track properly. Soft leather had paid Seoho’s fingertips company every time he hadn’t known what to do with his hands, but that was the most he’d let himself think about it. 

He’d assumed he wouldn’t be ready to talk about it until it was too late. Seoho has never been good at letting his heart lead him even when it’s given him a clear direction. 

He’s always been better at leaving important words unsaid, then picking apart old wounds and turning over possibilities long after he can do anything about them. 

Courage is so difficult to summon, when you’re so used to the taste of regret. 

Right now though, he’s pinned underneath the weight of Geonhak’s inquiring gaze. Whether he admits it or not, Seoho hadn’t bought it on a whim, and he hadn’t bought it for himself. 

The hour markers, case, and crown are all the same color as the second hand. 

Gold, to match the flecks of honey in Geonhak’s irises. 

Because Geonhak mostly collects silver watches, and while he looks good in pearl gray and ice and everything in between, Seoho really adores the way Geonhak looks in softer, warmer tones even if he’s never said it out loud.

The shimmer of the metal is even prettier in natural light from Geonhak’s window, the one stretching wall to wall in his bedroom, but Seoho had only dared to take it out while Geonhak was showering, or asleep, or distracted in the kitchen trying to fix up something to snack on. 

It’s doubly ironic that Geonhak had discovered the watch by accident while Seoho was showering. Maybe it’s easier this way, that he never had to make the decision himself. 

“Sorry,” Geonhak says, mistaking Seoho’s silence for something else. Anger, perhaps. Seoho is mostly numb as he watches Geonhak swallow, traces the slow dip of Geonhak’s Adam’s apple before it floats back up. “I didn’t mean to upset you, or cross a line—” 

“I believe you, Geonhak,” Seoho says, putting his phone down. “I’m not upset.”

“Oh.” Relief floods Geonhak’s features and he relaxes, shoulders dropping slightly. Seoho hadn’t realized how tense he was. “You don’t like wearing watches, though. Right?” 

“No,” Seoho replies. “I don’t.” 

Somewhere in the back of his brain Seoho reminds himself that this should feel a lot more like slipping towards the precipice of a cliff against his will, but it feels, miraculously, like the opposite. 

Geonhak must expect to see Seoho’s face close off. When he doesn’t, finds careful openness instead, his eyes widen. “Was it a gift from someone?” 

Seoho shakes his head. He knows Geonhak’s next question. He could deny it, before Geonhak asks. He could— 

“Is it…” Geonhak stands up and walks around the corner of the table, approaching Seoho. “Did you get it for me?” 

He smells a little like sweat but mostly Seoho’s favorite cologne on him, and he looks a little undone, too, having loosened his tie and untucked his dress shirt. His eyes are dark, but there’s a soft glow to them that betrays hope, and curiosity, and everything else he wants from Seoho but has never pushed Seoho into giving before he’s ready. 

_That already says a lot, don’t you think?_ Juyeon had said, when Seoho hadn’t denied respecting Geonhak, and he’s right, because as much as Seoho has learned to tame his manners, to smile in all the right ways and hardly ever mean it, he’s never given out both his heart and mind so easily to anyone the way he’s given those parts of himself to Geonhak. 

Seoho can live his whole life trying to control all the variables he’ll encounter in the hopes that he’ll never be caught off guard, that he’ll never fuck up and make another life altering mistake. It’s worked so far. He can keep going. 

But he really likes the way Geonhak laughs, right before he remembers he should be more annoyed than happy with Seoho, and he loves how even the sharpest words still come out of Geonhak’s mouth soft and harmless, because it’s more about how Geonhak says things than what he actually says. 

He loves how Geonhak always puts up a fight when Seoho nags at him, but eventually succumbs to Seoho’s concern and does as Seoho asks because he wants Seoho to be comfortable and at ease _more_ than he wants to be stubborn. 

Seoho wants Geonhak to ask him for all the things he’s afraid to ask from anyone else, and to indulge Geonhak until he’s no longer afraid or ashamed or self conscious. He wants to wake up to Geonhak’s terrible, sandpaper five o’clock shadow rubbing against his skin. To watch cartoons and go on cold morning hikes and tell Geonhak about all the things that hurt him and know Geonhak won’t look at him any different afterwards because he knows that Seoho isn’t the sum of a million strangers’ opinions, but just Seoho. 

Seoho’s hair is still wet. The separated locks had been dark against his forehead when he’d looked in the mirror earlier and startled himself with his reflection, stark ink against pale skin. A droplet of water trickles down Seoho’s neck, and Geonhak wipes at it with his thumb, skin hot enough that it feels like the droplet evaporates instantly under his touch. 

Seoho wants to stop being ice cold, because he trusts Geonhak not to let the real warmth in him freeze. If anything, Geonhak just makes both of them burn brighter and hotter. 

“Yes,” Seoho says. “I bought it because I thought of you, and I…” his mouth feels dry, and he’s nervous but less afraid, now. “I always think about you.”

Geonhak stares at him for a moment, eyes glossing over before he’s pulling Seoho into him, arms wrapping around Seoho’s waist so tightly that Seoho can’t tell whether he’s breathless because of Geonhak’s strength or his reaction to Seoho halfway admitting he’s in love with him. 

“You’re unfair,” Geonhak says, dropping his head into Seoho’s shoulder. “You’ve been unfair from day one.” 

Seoho lets his hands tentatively land on Geonhak’s biceps, and Geonhak pulls back to look at him. “Me?” 

“You let me take you home, but you pulled away every time I tried to tell you I wanted you to stay for good,” Geonhak says, and his outburst has Seoho staring at him with wide eyes, stunned. “I didn’t get you gifts because I was afraid you’d take it the wrong way, and I kept waiting for you to get sick of me, but you kissed me whenever you thought I was asleep and now you go and buy me a watch and _don’t say anything_?” 

He’s out of breath by the time he’s done, chest heaving, raspberry pink flush reaching his cheeks for once instead of the usual saturation that concentrates all in his ears, and Seoho can’t help the laugh that spills out of him, even as his lungs go tight and expand in the same breath. 

Geonhak deflates a little, pouting, but he doesn’t let go of Seoho. “Don’t laugh.” 

“Sorry,” Seoho says. He’s never worried about being replaceable because he always leaves before he ever ends up in a position that vulnerable, but with Geonhak looking at him like this, Seoho’s not sure how he could have prevented Geonhak from filling in all of his cracks and sharp edges even if he wanted to. “I wanted to think things through. I wanted…I kept wanting to see if there were signs that I was reading wrong, because—” 

“You think too much.” Geonhak’s lower lip trembles. “Even Dongju said you keep things all to yourself, and that you don’t tell anyone how you’re feeling because you think too deeply about everything.” 

“Dongju’s an expert on me huh?” Seoho says, laughing in disbelief at the idea of Dongju most likely coaching Geonhak through how to handle Seoho, discussing how Seoho works as a person like there’s a manual to the type of emotionally unavailable he is. “And you don’t think much. Is that why your laugh sounds like it’s full of air, or made out of cotton candy?” 

Startled, Geonhak blinks. “Are you insulting me?” 

“I don’t know, Geonhak,” Seoho says. “Maybe you should try _thinking_ about it.” 

“Tell me directly,” Geonhak whines. “I’m tired of guessing what you feel, because I kept thinking you didn’t really want me the way I wanted you, and now you’re…” 

Seoho supposes he could take pity on Geonhak just this once. “Well, you’re cute, for sure. And unfortunately complicated.” 

Geonhak looks like he can’t decide between smiling or growling. “What do you mean?!” 

“Why are you talking like I live down the hall, idiot?” Seoho asks, tapping his fingers carefully against Geonhak’s arm, wondering if it’ll trick his own heartbeat into slowing down and matching the pace. “Do you remember when you told me this didn’t have to be complicated?” 

An age old excuse that Seoho kept using to guide himself back to rationality every time Geonhak got too close and opened his mouth like he was going to ask to keep Seoho for good. In retrospect, there’s a lot of ways their agreement could have been interpreted, but Seoho had thought his fondness for Geonhak would eventually pass, not realizing Geonhak would settle into every corner of Seoho he could possibly squeeze into and start growing thicker, larger than life roots that made it impossible for Seoho’s heart to ever consider growing for anyone else. 

“I remember,” Geonhak says. “I wanted to find a way to keep you, and I could tell you didn’t like things that were inconvenient.” 

“And yet…” _I ended up liking you the most,_ Seoho thinks to himself, _despite all the inconveniences and risks and heartbreak I was so sure it would bring me._ “You didn’t have boundaries. It was confusing.”

“But it was never complicated,” Geonhak says firmly. Seoho has to give him that; Geonhak had never tried to win over Seoho because he’d never treated what they had as a game. “My feelings were always clear even if you didn’t want to see them.”

“It’s not that I didn’t want to see them,” Seoho says. “It was easier to pretend I didn’t know what you meant to me.” 

“Do you still feel that way?” Geonhak asks. “Are you going to continue pretending?” 

Seoho gives him a small smile. “What do you think?” 

“I’m hoping you want more now,” Geonhak says, and Seoho’s heartbeat feels like a storm, feels like millions of water droplets hitting the ground so hard he can’t hear anything but the deafening roar of heavy rain. He gives up on trying to slow it down, letting the tapping of his fingers against Geonhak’s arm slow down and fade out into nothing before he just slides them down warm silk, savoring body heat that feels a little like it belongs to him even though he’s not producing it. “Because it’s what I want, and whenever you’re with me, the world feels so—” Geonhak’s eyebrows pinch together as he searches for the right word, and Seoho laughs. 

“Feels so..?” 

“Golden,” Geonhak says, and Seoho can feel an eerily familiar wet burn building up behind his eyes even if they don’t form, won’t fall. He hasn’t cried in years, not when he’d gotten hurt, not when he’d lost everything important to him and had to start all over again, but it’s fitting that Geonhak is always the closest thing to an exception, whether Seoho’s had a bad nightmare or he’s processing feelings he’s ignored for months because the permanence of those emotions terrified him. “When you let me get close, and make me laugh, and listen to every word I say while trying to pretend you don’t care, it feels like my bloodstream’s made of gold.” 

“That’s really dramatic, Geonhakkie,” Seoho says, meaning to tease Geonhak further, but it comes out too soft, too _adoring,_ maybe because his body knows he’s been lying for too long to try and pretend now he hasn’t always felt the exact same way. 

Geonhak is flower embossed honey in the summer, sweet and sticky. He’s flecks of gold dust in amber stones, and copper sunsets, and the first bite of a perfectly ripe orange, tangy scent of citrus lingering on Seoho’s tongue and in the back of Seoho’s throat. He’s all the things Seoho loves and holds onto deep in his heart and _more,_ because Seoho has always hated being ice cold, and Geonhak is unconditional warmth that makes Seoho remember to let go of the shards of himself until they’re no longer cutting into his palms and they’re merely floating in gold waves, weightless and free. 

Seoho wraps his arms around Geonhak’s neck, biting back a smile that stretches too wide before he gives himself away. Maybe it doesn’t matter, because Geonhak seems to know, already, just how far gone Seoho is for him.

Geonhak reminds Seoho of all the memorable sunsets in his life, and frozen raspberries, and crushed velvet, but most importantly, he _feels_ like an infinity of sunrises Seoho’s going to look forward to discovering, over and over again.

“Me, too,” he tells Geonhak, belatedly answering Geonhak’s hope with some of his own. “I want your everything.” 

Geonhak inhales, shakily. Even so, he’s radiant. “Seoho—” 

“I’m going to kiss you, okay?” Seoho says, _announces,_ and eyes wide but expectant, Geonhak lets him. 

✧

“This is terrible,” Seoho mumbles after they inevitably wind up in Geonhak’s bed, and he only half-means it as Geonhak looks up at him through his eyelashes and his floppy blonde bangs from where he’s sucking marks into Seoho’s hip. 

“What’s wrong?” Geonhak asks, lips kiss-swollen and bright red from blowing Seoho earlier. He doesn’t seem very concerned, eyes half-lidded from the haze of having already come once, in between Seoho’s thighs and all over Seoho’s cock, but he lifts himself up so that they can be on eye level. 

It’s not that Seoho had expected things to stay the same, with newfound understanding between them and where they stand with each other, but he’d still hoped…

Hoped, maybe, that his heart wouldn’t stutter and trip and stop every time Geonhak so much _looks_ at him, with those soft brown puppy eyes that Seoho had been weak to from day one, when Geonhak tried to make Seoho stay with him the morning after and _succeeded._

“I don’t think I ever stood a chance against you,” Seoho says. 

“So nothing’s wrong,” Geonhak says, and Seoho scowls at him. Geonhak merely bends down to kiss Seoho, tickling him on his sides all the while until Seoho’s giggling back into Geonhak’s minty mouth. “It’s good, right? Because I never stood a chance against you either.” 

“It’s your terrible hair, and your awful laugh, and your stupid eyes,” Seoho says sourly, even as he squeezes Geonhak’s ass and pulls Geonhak forward until Geonhak’s falling completely into him. “Everything about you is a problem.” 

“I’m glad you love my terrible hair and my awful laugh and my stupid eyes so much,” Geonhak says, endlessly agreeable. With nearly all of Geonhak’s weight on him, Seoho is distinctly aware of the way their cocks are trapped between each other’s stomachs, the way Geonhak tenses up when Seoho shifts his hips even the slightest bit. 

“I’m sure you haven’t forgotten,” Seoho says, “but do you want…” with two fingers, he traces lightly over the seam of Geonhak’s ass, and Geonhak’s whole body twitches. He’s so volatile when it comes to being touched by Seoho, skin pebbling and thin, micro hairs rising even under where Seoho’s holding onto Geonhak’s waist with his other hand. “Not you, but…remember what I offered?” 

Geonhak clutches at Seoho’s wrist, making a pained but turned on noise that makes Seoho burst into laughter. “Do you mean…?” 

Seoho nods, laughing again at Geonhak’s mix of reluctance to peel himself away from Seoho’s warmth and rush to get the lube, the latter of which eventually wins out and makes him get off the bed. 

“Has anyone else ever had you like this?” Geonhak asks, when he’s worked his way up to three fingers, checking and double checking that the stretch of each additional digit is hurting Seoho far less than it’s pleasuring him. He’d placed a pillow below Seoho’s hips to make Seoho comfortable as well as give himself more access, and Seoho’s elbows are bent at a ninety degree angle to prop himself up enough to watch Geonhak. 

“Don’t you think that’s a dangerous question?” Seoho asks lazily, letting the pronunciation of his words blur into each other. Geonhak must have paid attention to how Seoho did this for him, because the burn is only minimally unpleasant, pressure dragging out something deep and hidden and instinctively _forbidden_ where Seoho’s never been reached before. “What if you don’t like the answer?” 

“Tell me,” Geonhak says, flicking lightly at Seoho’s nipple before he moves his palm to rest over where Seoho can feel his own heartbeat. Geonhak can feel it, too, if his mesmerized expression is anything to go by. “I want to know.” 

“Only you,” Seoho says, and absentmindedly, he lifts his hand up to mirror how Geonhak is touching him, splaying his fingers across the alluring, sturdy rise of Geonhak’s chest and waiting for everything to go quiet in his mind so that he can focus on the anchoring staccato of Geonhak’s heartbeat. 

Breathless as he looks down at where Seoho’s hand is touching him, Geonhak asks, “Why didn’t you just say so?” 

“I’d rather watch you squirm,” Seoho says. He barely gets the words out, because Geonhak teases a fourth finger where Seoho’s already taking three, and then Seoho’s trying to curl into himself, fighting the urge to crumple into a pile of limbs at the fullness that’s in danger of shattering him from the inside out. 

“I think you’re the one squirming right now,” Geonhak murmurs, rubbing insistently at a spot inside of Seoho that makes it feel like flames are crawling up the line of his spine and settling through the rest of his body like molten lava. “Is this okay?” He’s pressing where he can, slowly migrating to allow all four of his fingers even distribution inside of Seoho every time Seoho relaxes just enough for him to try something new again. 

“Yeah, I think—” the rest of his thought is stolen by Geonhak finding his prostate, and Seoho’s left to fight for any air he can get as he gasps loud and wrecked, a stepped, layered trill of one of his usual laughs tumbling out of him before it dissolves into a moan of its own volition. “Oh _fuck._ ” 

“Good?” Geonhak’s voice is the lowest Seoho’s ever heard it, and his eyes are dark when he leans over Seoho to gaze at him. The sweet press of lips on Seoho’s chin feels vaguely like a gold star sticker for _participation points_ or something, and Seoho coughs out a laugh. “Still with me?” 

“I—” Seoho registers wetness at the corners of his eyes, focus stretched thin and split between the source of stimulation and the rippling waves of pleasure because of it that feel all consuming, like he’s being eaten alive when the only thing that’s getting him off is Geonhak fingering him, knuckles nudging just shy of his rim from the inside. “ _Geonhak—_ ” 

“I like when you say my name like that,” Geonhak says. “It’s like you can’t think about anything except me.” 

“It’s true, I can’t,” Seoho replies, winded. “Didn’t I already tell you that?” 

“I keep thinking it’s a dream,” Geonhak says. “I’ll have to wake up tomorrow and do this to you all over again.” A soft chuckle. 

Seoho’s vision flashes hot white, and he clenches around Geonhak’s fingers, hard enough that it draws a surprised sound out of Geonhak. “I can’t, I can’t,” Seoho starts to babble when Geonhak repeatedly curls his fingers as far as he can reach, the tears at the inklings of overstimulation finally slipping out of the corners of his eyes, down his cheek and leaving his skin salt sticky as they keep coming. “Fuck, _Geonhakkie,_ would you just, please—” 

“Too much?” Geonhak asks, subdued, and Seoho makes a noise that’s meant to come across dissatisfied but only has Geonhak smiling down sweetly at him. Everything is warm, and fuzzy, and as much as Seoho wants to get this _over_ with so the ache inside him unfurls and dissipates, he feels like he’s melting, too, underneath the painfully gentle press and glide of Geonhak’s fingers. “Just overwhelmed?” 

It’s almost like he’s asking about more than just how Seoho feels physically, and...

Forgoing proper words, Seoho just makes another choked off, irritated noise, not wanting to beg, not wanting to say anything that will peel more layers of him back for Geonhak to pay attention to. Geonhak’s shirt is completely unbuttoned, damp with sweat, and his loosened tie hangs close enough that Seoho can use it as leverage to pull Geonhak into him, to be more demanding as he presses cool fingertips to the back of Geonhak’s neck. 

“Okay, okay,” Geonhak says, sounding a little guilty when he nuzzles at Seoho’s jaw. “You hit your nice words maximum for the day, I get it.” 

It’s still scary when Seoho lets everything sink in and remembers he’s laying himself bare and Geonhak is touching him with the knowledge that it means something to both of them. He’s in safe hands, and so is Geonhak, but the happiness constantly bubbling up to his throat is accompanied too by a sense of bone deep exhaustion that he suspects won’t go away until tomorrow morning. 

He doesn’t have to dwell on any of that for long, though, because Geonhak’s edging him to completion from one orgasm to the next, gratisfying friction interspersed between murmurs of praise against long healed ink etched into skin stretching across Seoho’s rib cage, kisses at his sternum all the way up to the crease between his pecs, and rougher bites that’ll bloom brighter petals hours from now at the vertices of Seoho’s scapulas. Everything is coiled up in Seoho so tight he thinks wings might start shooting out from the vertical edges of his shoulder blades, he’s lost his sense of grounding entirely. 

Seoho ends up coming untouched just from Geonhak’s fingers, shooting white onto his stomach and chest, and then Geonhak replaces his fingers with his cock and fucks Seoho through the aftershocks until Seoho’s hard again, sensitivity ramping up to painful before it falls back to something he actually wants to chase. It’s a different kind of fullness to be connected like this, but Geonhak is meticulous enough, has been the whole time that the painful ache of it morphs into much friendlier, more attainable friction almost immediately after he’s bottomed out.

Geonhak sinks his teeth into the junction between Seoho’s neck and shoulder when he comes inside of Seoho, the arch of his body so curved into Seoho’s own that the indents he leaves behind are probably farther in trap muscle territory, careless as usual with placement. The onset of Geonhak’s orgasm pushes Seoho off the edge, no tangible escape route left for him when Geonhak’s on top of him and inside, too, putting his mouth and hands everywhere on Seoho he can reach, and Seoho spills hot wetness onto drying come on his skin, shaking less through it this time because he’s got a weighted, breathing blanket of warmth over him. 

With a kiss to Seoho’s temple, Geonhak sits up and pulls out, but he drags Seoho’s hips closer into his lap to make up for the separation before he continues jerking Seoho off, letting the residual spurts of come dribble down his hands while his cock rests warm and heavy against Seoho’s inner thigh. He keeps his other hand on Seoho’s hip until Seoho starts moving away, which is when he flattens his palm across Seoho’s lower belly to keep him in place, taking advantage and caressing the harder, deeper ridges of Seoho’s abs with the pads of his fingers. 

By the time Geonhak lets go of him after exhausting Seoho’s body to its limits, peppering Seoho’s face in kisses and only stopping when Seoho pinches him with a diffusive laugh, Seoho feels like a mess and knows he looks it, covered in sweat and come and lube. 

Though with Geonhak whining into his neck, both of them spent and happy, Seoho can’t say he minds all that much. 

“I love you like this,” Geonhak says, and Seoho gives him what he thinks is a withering look but might not be as sharp as he intends, because Geonhak just smiles at him. 

“Mauled?” Seoho asks. “You see, I was attacked by a large dog—“

“Fuck off,” Geonhak says. 

Seoho directs a pointed look to where Geonhak is playing with his hand, stroking his thumb across the syncopated ridge of Seoho’s knuckles. “I’m not the one _clinging—“_

“I _meant_ ,” Geonhak says, still not letting go of Seoho’s hand, “that I like it when you look at me like this.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like you trust me,” Geonhak says quietly, “without disguising it under something else.” His eye-whites are glassy, Seoho realizes, but Geonhak blinks away the wetness, and it’s a clear day in his gaze again. “Thank you for trusting me.” 

Seoho’s chest goes tight and bursts all at once. “I trusted you from the beginning,” he says. “Couldn’t you tell?” 

Geonhak manages to wheedle Seoho into showering with him after letting Seoho doze off long enough for Geonhak to wipe him down, but they’re both so tired that the most they do is kiss, getting soap and shampoo in each other’s mouths and laughing about it through their mutual complaints. 

Seoho is quiet as he shampoos Geonhak’s hair, careful to smooth it back so as to not get any of the suds in Geonhak’s eyes. 

When Geonhak does the same for him, Seoho finds himself telling Geonhak about June, briefly, but more the listlessness he’d felt as a dancer, and how he’d only wanted to feel something to get away from the pressure of it all. How that’d led to night racing and one poor decision after another, how he hadn’t needed to rediscover himself in dance again because the decision was taken out of his hands, at the cost of someone else’s blunder behind the wheel. 

There is no dramatic drop in his stomach of having revealed too much, but there’s inevitable discomfort curling at the bottom of it, reminding him he still can’t comfortably talk about the things that have left scars in their wake. He’s capable, but he’d rather not. 

Geonhak offers no immediate platitudes, or any at all, because he’s quick to react when he’s being teased, but he always thinks long and hard when it’s something important, knows exactly how delicate or destructive words can be if chosen carelessly. 

Eventually he settles on a _thank you_ that Seoho almost misses because the shower water is loud and Geonhak’s voice is mostly lost to the dip of Seoho’s collarbone, but not entirely.

“I used to get into fights when I was younger,” Geonhak tells Seoho as they’re coming out of the shower. He mumbles it against the nape of Seoho’s neck, muffling the delivery, but it’s certain that he wants Seoho to know because he’s surrendering the information unwarranted. “It was part of the reason why I quit going to the dance academy.” 

Seoho reaches for his glasses, washing them thoroughly with soap and rinsing away the lather. He feels a lot more himself the moment he’s able to dry the lenses and put the glasses on. “Really?” 

“We’re not...” Geonhak is clinging. He hasn’t stopped clinging all day, honestly, and Seoho’s surprised to find that he doesn’t mind. Geonhak is watching him through the mirror, and Seoho stares back at him, cataloguing the minute shifts in Geonhak’s expression through their reflection. “We’re not that different. Things aren’t black and white, so...” 

“Are you sure about that?” Seoho laughs, pulling at a lock of Geonhak’s platinum blonde hair, looking at his own black curls. 

“Very funny,” Geonhak says. “What was your first impression of me?” 

“That you definitely snored in your sleep,” Seoho says, “judging by your voice alone.” 

Geonhak pinches Seoho in the side of his stomach. Seoho tries to squirm out of his grip, but it’s futile, and he doesn’t actually want to get away all that much. 

His first impression of Geonhak…

Geonhak had been pretty. Wide. Soft spoken and polite in a way that hadn’t matched his looks at all. Seoho had started paying more attention when he’d heard Geonhak laugh in the middle of comforting the miffed bartender who he seemed to be friends with, and maybe Seoho had been captivated at first sight, if not already in love. 

That seems like a pretty silly thing to say, though, so he just weaves one lock of his hair with Geonhak’s, twisting the spiral of black and blonde around his finger until Geonhak makes a small noise of discomfort, which is when Seoho releases his hold. 

“I wasn’t interested in people for a long time,” Geonhak says. “I’d resigned myself to keeping the few people I trusted close, and not bothering to make friends with anyone else.”

“And then you met me,” Seoho teases. “Witty and handsome and perfectly catered to your tastes.”

“Yes,” Geonhak says, not disagreeing, and through the mirror, Seoho can see how soft Geonhak’s eyes are. “Especially because you do this thing with your face.” 

“What?” Heat diffuses through Seoho’s ears, and he hopes color doesn’t follow. 

“I don’t know,” Geonhak says. His face suggests he does know, and is just embarrassed to explain. After a moment of deliberation, he seems to overcome the embarrassment. “You weren’t friendly, but you looked at me like I was the only other person in the world, and…” 

“I assume a lot of people looked at you like that,” Seoho says. 

Geonhak shakes his head. “Most people looked at me like they were trying to figure out what they could get from me,” he says, pressing his cheek to Seoho’s damp hair. “Whether they’d get a chance at fucking the money and not so much the person.” 

“And I didn’t look like I wanted anything?” Seoho bites at his lower lip. “I’m not that much of an angel.” 

“I’d heard things about you in passing,” Geonhak says. “I was expecting you to be dismissive. Or rude.” He laughs, as if recalling that night. “But it was obvious that you had manners, just that you were tired of having them.” 

“Hey,” Seoho says. “No need to revisit days where I was rude.” 

“Be patient, I’m getting to the good part,” Geonhak says. 

“Oh yeah?” Seoho says. “And what’s that? You looked at me from across the bar and saw this wonderful, amazing soul just floating there?” 

“That would have made things easier, but no,” Geonhak says, laughing again. “You were mean, and a little blunt, but you didn’t size me up. All you wanted from me was a reaction.” 

“Oh,” Seoho says.

“I remember you asking me if I wanted to take you home, after you pissed me off every way you could possibly figure out how to in the span of ten minutes,” Geonhak says, and Seoho laughs into the crook of Geonhak’s elbow, embarrassed even though he remembers it too. He’d been flirtatious as a way to make Geonhak relax, and then Geonhak had taken him seriously, which in turn… “You didn’t even mean it at first.” 

“Sorry,” Seoho says. “I guess I used to be a bit of an asshole.” 

“Used to be? A bit?” Mocking fingers curl around Seoho’s shoulder, squeezing. Geonhak’s mouth is so close to Seoho’s ear, and the reverberation of his voice settles into Seoho like a blanket. “All I could think when you asked me that was ‘ _is he really going to let me?’_ ”

“I thought you were very cute when you got riled up,” Seoho says. “I wasn’t expecting…” _everything else._

“You weren’t expecting what?” 

“How gentle you were,” Seoho says. He turns around then, because he doesn’t know how much longer he can watch Geonhak watch him in the mirror, and it’s easier to hide his face like this, tucked into Geonhak’s neck. He gives into the impulse to mouth at warm skin, and the barely there press of Seoho’s lips has Geonhak tangibly shuddering against him. 

“You’re gentle, too,” Geonhak says. “Want me to dry your hair for you?” 

“Yeah,” Seoho says, dragging his feet when Geonhak tries to nudge both of them past the doorway, but he eventually lets go of Geonhak so that Geonhak can retrieve the hairdryer and more towels. 

Geonhak wrestles Seoho into his lap, then keeps Seoho in his lap long after he’s finished drying Seoho’s hair and his own. Seoho complains about not having enough space to breathe without any real heat to it, even as he fits his fingers in between Geonhak’s and thinks about how maybe he fills in Geonhak’s cracks like Geonhak fills in his, reciprocal in forging stronger, brighter rivers of gold at the seams of scars where they’ve both been hurt before. 

“I’m really happy,” Geonhak says. “I want to make you even happier.”

“You already do, puppy,” Seoho replies, and means it. 

Geonhak makes a soft, stuttered exhale, his breath hitching when Seoho releases their intertwined fingers and brings Geonhak’s hand up so that he can press his lips to the back of it, where a vein is particularly prominent underneath Geonhak’s skin. 

✧

Hwanwoong slinks up behind Seoho in the kitchen on Monday morning, only because there are no afternoon or evening sections available for his film history course. “You figured your shit out?” 

“I’ve always had it figured out,” Seoho says, with an arched eyebrow. 

“Yeah, sure,” Hwanwoong says, rolling his eyes, but the rest of him is fighting back a smile. “According to Dongju, Geonhak has been giggly and gushy and disgusting since the weekend, so I assumed you guys talked after the function?” 

“Something like that,” replies Seoho. He reflexively slips his hand underneath the ragged collar of his black t-shirt and over his shoulder to press at where it still stings, slightly, from the bite mark Geonhak had left two days ago. 

“Good,” Hwanwoong says. “It was about time you stopped being a dumbass.” 

“I’m wounded,” Seoho says, dropping his hand back to the countertop. “I’ve gone to the valiant effort of breaking no hearts and you treat me like this.” 

“Knowing you, you must have squished both your and Geonhak’s hearts on the floor a couple times to emotionally punish yourself before Geonhak finally rescued them,” Hwanwoong says. 

“Are you implying I’m worse at feelings than he is?” 

“I _know_ you are,” Hwanwoong says, and Seoho’s about to reply with something snide when a notification lights up his phone screen with a message from Geonhak: _can I come visit you at the yogurt shop later today :-)_

He probably wants to pick Seoho up, too, which Seoho doesn’t mind. Youngjo’s probably going to say all sorts of embarrassing things, but it won’t be anything Geonhak hasn’t already inferred himself. 

_as a customer yeah. u should make urself useful and lure in more customers for us with that face of urs,_ Seoho teases, with a corresponding :^) of his own. 

_i don’t want to lure anyone in except you!_ Geonhak replies, _and no, let me visit as your b o y f r i e n d. can’t i?_

“This boyfriend shit is going to give me heart problems,” Seoho says, sighing as he puts his phone down, not bothering to obscure the screen from Hwanwoong’s curious eyes. 

“Aw,” Hwanwoong says. “He likes you so much.” 

“I like him, too,” Seoho says, and the lack of denial makes Hwanwoong’s eyes go wide and shocked, dark irises surrounded on all sides by white. “Hwanwoong, I think I’m sick, because I can’t imagine what affection was like before him, and now I feel fuzzy and disgusting inside all the time.” 

“Get well never,” Hwanwoong says, laughing, and Seoho groans as he picks up his phone again to reply to Geonhak. 

✧ 

Leaned up against his motorbike as he waits outside of Geonhak’s classroom in a nondescript building of the business department, tapping at the helmet he’s resting against his thigh, Seoho figures he should feel more out of place. 

He doesn’t, though, even if this is a foreign, new experience for him. It reminds him of all the times in high school he’d come out of calculus exams or history lectures seeing boys with free periods waiting for their girlfriends. 

He hadn’t been able to picture himself in their places, knowing that the reason would always fall somewhere in between his aversion to showy displays of affection and his attraction to boys who more often than not couldn’t be honest with themselves. Seoho’s not that honest with himself, either, so his expectations have never soared too high. 

His own lingering reservations seem to have rubbed off on Geonhak, because Geonhak is careful when they’re in public, like he’s sometimes still not sure how he’s managed to persuade Seoho into staying with him for this long without running. Seoho knows Geonhak’s cautiousness isn’t stemming from any hesitation on his own part, when Geonhak uses every opportunity to snake his hands around Seoho’s waist or curl fingers into Seoho’s shoulder, leaving behind invisible reminders for himself that Seoho is really his to keep. 

Seoho thinks, as he starts getting braver and looking forward more often than he looks back over his shoulder, he’ll hesitate less to offer reassurances in reply to the intensity of Geonhak’s conviction. The words are there, sweet and syrupy and bound to take away the nervous tension in Geonhak, but they mostly get caught behind Seoho’s rib cage, hiding behind ink on skin, on rare occasions making it to the back of Seoho’s throat but never further. 

Today, he’s just going to let his gestures speak for the words that won’t come out yet because Geonhak, as much as he disregards personal space and tact like it’s his favorite sport, can read Seoho in all the ways Seoho needs him to when it’s important. 

He can hear the bustle of students getting out of their seats and packing up, and then the door’s swinging open, students filing through the narrow exit of the classroom. Most of them don’t pay Seoho any attention beyond an initial glance at the black in their peripheral vision, less inconspicuous underneath the midday sun, but some stare at him for a brief moment, maybe recognizing him from old university newspaper articles. 

Geonhak emerges, finally, running a hand through freshly bleached, white blonde hair and looking terribly sun kissed in the way that makes Seoho want to be a sun of his own just so he knows what it’s like to touch Geonhak forever. 

He’s wearing the watch Seoho bought for him, and when he sees Seoho, he does a double take like he doesn’t quite believe his vision the first time around. Then he perks up, bright enough to power a whole city, probably, and Seoho laughs as Geonhak jogs the remaining distance to him. 

“Hi handsome,” Seoho says, just to watch the way Geonhak loses track of whatever he’s about to say, too taken aback by Seoho’s greeting. 

“I—” Geonhak starts, and then he gives up speaking in favor of scanning Seoho’s outfit from head to toe. His ears are red, and they’re the reddest Seoho’s ever seen them by the time Geonhak’s gaze wanders back up to Seoho’s face and he finds Seoho already staring at him. 

“You dressed like that on purpose, didn’t you?” Geonhak asks, after a few seconds of clumsy silence and scattered glances, and the weight of his attention makes Seoho crack and break out into a smile that’s a little too wide. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Seoho says, even though he’d picked the black polo shirt knowing it would pique Geonhak’s interest, in both the style and the way it clings to Seoho’s frame, revealing more skin than usual with the short sleeves and open collar. “How was your test?” 

“I think I did okay,” Geonhak replies. He’s hearing Seoho speak, but he’s definitely more focused on Seoho’s arms. “You look really nice.” 

“Thank you,” Seoho says, drumming fingers on his helmet. “Do you want me to take you to lunch or are you just going to continue mentally stripping me down to nothing?” 

Sheepish at being seen through so easily, Geonhak blushes, but then he realizes Seoho’s more amused than anything else, which gives him the confidence to lean into Seoho’s space. 

“Can’t I have both?” One eyebrow raised, self assured but mostly hopeful. His smile says he knows he’s going to get what he wants, but that he’s holding his heart out anyways, loyal and steady, asking for Seoho to take it (and him) home. 

“How greedy,” Seoho says, even as he tucks away his own heart’s eager, much more sincere _yes, you can have everything._

“Only for you,” Geonhak says. 

“What a charmer,” Seoho says, as Geonhak lets his hands come up to rest at Seoho’s jaw, cupping Seoho’s face like he thinks Seoho is precious. From this close, his irises are a true golden, and Seoho thinks there are no stars brighter than the flecks of sun in Geonhak’s eyes. “I guess I’ll keep you, Geonhakkie, and love you lots.” 

Delighted, Geonhak kisses him, laughing fluffy and soft and affectionate as he licks into Seoho’s mouth, making sure not to bowl Seoho over with his puppy-like enthusiasm and strength. It doesn’t quite work, but Seoho keeps himself steady with a palm propped up behind him on the seat of his motorcycle, before he’s pushing at Geonhak’s chest lightly to remind Geonhak not to send both of them falling. 

Geonhak tastes like the honey glass crunch of persimmons on Seoho’s tongue, and when Seoho closes his eyes, letting his world go dark solely to focus on the feeling of Geonhak’s lips on his own, he still sees gold. He thinks he always will. 

✧

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading if you made it here 
> 
> a lil sad to part with this bb of a fic 
> 
> **please consider leaving a comment if you enjoyed! tell me your favorite line? :-) nearly 53,000 words is too long of a conversation to have with myself**


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